I Wanna Eff You Like a Masochistic Lion
by Feisty Y. Beden
Summary: I Wanna Eff You Like a Masochistic Lion B/c of Your Pools of Brown Diarrhea Eyes: The Worst Story Ever Told. Collab btwn Philadelphic, Feisty Y. Beden, & NelsonsMandela. M for mmmwrong. Welcome to the Sequel, Chilly's Song.
1. The Worst Story Ever Told

**The Most Shitteous Craptastic Cuddlecock Crack Contest 2009 **

**Title of your entry: I Wanna Eff You Like a Masochistic Lion Because of Your Pools of Brown Diarrhea Eyes: The Worst Story Ever Told**

**Pennames: Feisty Y. Beden and Philadelphic**** and NelsonSmandela**

**Pairing: Bella and Edward and Jasper and Smoke Penis and Care Bears and Jacob and Leah**

**Summary: The usual story, but with more handjobs, more babies, more fluids, and more POVs.**

**Disclaimer: All we own is wrong.**

**To see the other stories in this contest, please see: **

**www dot fanfiction dot net/u/2150031/The_Worst_Story_Ever_Contest**

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Prologue:**

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Caius, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Charlie also went up from Forks, out of the city of Forks, into Forks, unto the city of Meyer, which is also called Forks (because he was of the house and lineage of Meyer). To be taxed with Renee his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn daughter, and wrapped her in a swaddling hoodie, and laid her in a platter of mushroom ravioli; because there was no room for them in the inn. And there were in the same country vampires playing baseball in the field, keeping watch over their coven by night, but not on the land of the La Push reservation, as per the pertinent clause in the treaty with the Tribal Elders of the Quileutes. And, lo, the Narrator of the Meyer came upon them, and the glory of the Meyer shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the Narrator said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great snack, which shall be to one of thine own vampires. For unto you is born this day in the city of Forks a MarySue, which is Bella the Swan. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling hoodie, lying in a platter of mushroom ravioli.

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Chapter One:**

**SEVENTEEN YEARS LATER**

**EPOV:**  
I was feeling emo, as usual. I was flipping my hair and sighing, sick of watching my vampire siblings sexing it up on every piece of furniture in the house. "That is an EAMES chair, you dullards," I yelled as Rosalie and Emmett wiggled their jigglies. They were so _juvenile_. I got out of my flannel footie pajamas and into my _totally smokin'_ sleeveless collared shirt. Unbuttoned. I was feeling saucy, so I wore the oatmeal-colored one instead of the taupe or heather gray. "We are going to be late for school," I said, popping the silent "p" in "school."

**Silver Volvo POV:**  
Gosh it was hard sitting in the driveway all night. In the mornings, the moody one would drive me and his siblings to school. What a sham. They were all way too old to go there. Then they'd leave me in the parking lot with the other cars. The other cars didn't want to talk to me because I was a Volvo, and they were all, like, Chevys and Chryslers, nothing more exotic than _maybe_ a Honda. Reverse snobbery, if you asked me, but no one ever did, because I was a fucking silver Volvo.

I was wondering if my tires made me look fat when the moody one came out of the house. Oatmeal today. He must have been feeling saucy. I wondered what the cause of his good mood was--he certainly looked as cranky as ever. The other sham-student-siblings followed him out to the car like a bunch of bloodthirsty baby ducklings, and then they were hopping into me as if I were a cheap Tijuana whore.

The moody one turned my ignition with artful, cold fingers. Cold, long fingers, like snaking vines of icy iciness. My bundle of circuits roared to life as he stroked the long, silver key in my keyhole. He gripped the shaft of my gear shift, setting me in motion. "This clutch is so _tight_," he moaned as he slowly reversed out of the driveway. I purred as I gently cupped his ass with my bucket seats.

He pounded his foot against my accelerator again and again and again, until I grunted in protest--after all, I was only a V6. I couldn't handle all this heavy ramming. He could have at least taken his shoes off first. I wanted to feel his socked foot twitching against my hard rubber accelerator. I fantasized about his longer-than-average phalanges. Mmm, phalanges. I was getting a little hot under the hood.

But then he ignored my brake. He always ignored my brake. Just a speed demon, no time for _braking_, the selfish prick.

Oh no, there it was, the brake, the brake, THE BRAKE! Ungh! Brake! Harder! Pound it! Unf! Unf! I could barely contain myself, my brake pads straining painfully against my tires, but before I could explode, we were already at the school. The moody one didn't stay in the car, didn't run his hands over my upholstery. No, he just turned off my ignition, just like that, and they all left me, bereft, empty, a vacuum of want.

Seven hours of solitude, alone despite being surrounded by so many cars, no one seeing my loneliness and alienation, not even my own rearview mirror. I would wait. I always waited for that jerk with the long, cool fingers.

**Rearview Mirror POV:**  
God, I wished the car would shut the fuck up. I thought Edward was a whiny emo bitch, but he was nothing compared to Silver Volvo.

**Silver Volvo POV:**  
I suspected the rearview mirror hated me. Maybe I was just paranoid.

**Rearview Mirror POV:**  
The car was _so_ not paranoid in thinking I hated his guts.

**Car Air Freshener POV:**  
OMFG I wished the car and the rearview mirror would stop their silent war of seething and paranoia. I just wanted the world to smell nice. Was that so wrong?

**Hedwig POV: **

It's been about 10 years since I was murdered, stuffed, and donated to science in the Muggle community. I wish I really were dead. All the way dead, I mean, instead of being mostly dead. As a magical creature frozen with magical embalming fluid, I am cursed to an eternity of witnessing the same Biology classes over and over again, year in and year out.

Mr. Banner never changes his jokes.

This year, we at least got a vampire in the classroom. At first I thought he was going to be interesting, like he'd kill some people or at least mesmerize them and sex up some ladies, like vampires do in movies. Anything to get Banner off his "script." But nothing. Every day, that vampire came in the classroom, wearing the dullest colors LL Bean has to offer, plus occasionally a muted blue, and every day he was polite, quiet, and made perfect grades. He even sat alone. He was cute, yeah, but otherwise the most boringest vampire I'd ever seen. He never did anything remotely interesting.

Until she came in. The lip-biting-blinky-mumbler called Bella Swan. Jesus, I thought 'Hedwig' was a shitty name. If I were a teenaged girl and my name was Bella Swan, I'd fucking change it, but no, when Banner tried to give her an out and called her Isabella, she was all, "Mumblemumbleno, it's just Bella umumummmmmmmm."

I wonder if she knows that it means "pretty." She HAS to know, right? It's AP Bio, for fuck's sake. Then the scent hit the fan. Literally. She totally bought that Suave Strawberry shampoo, and her hair kind of reeked of it. And she smelled like freesia and feminine odor, like she was trying to cover it up with the freesia. It didn't, it just...added to the confusion. I don't think anyone ever told her that is a cloying fucking combination, not to mention confusing. Do you want to smell edible or floral? Make up your mind. She should of just smeared maple syrup down there. Let me tell you, the scent totally freaked him out.

OMG it was so good. I totally wanted to tweet that shit, but my curse will not allow it. You should of been there--he looked like he totally jizzed in his pants and threw up a little in his mouth at the same time. Freesia and Strawberry. Confusing, right?

He probably did jizz in his pants. I thought he was going to finally bite someone until the bell rang and he ran out. LL Bean cannot run straight to save his life.

Anyhoo (get it?), LL Bean wasn't there for a while, so I had to watch Mumbella "call me pretty" Swan fidget like she had pinworms (mmmmmnomnomnom) all up in her anus for like, a week while Banner kept up his schtick. I really miss worms. Harry always gave me dried ones whenever. Sigh. I promised myself I wouldn't think about that. ANYWAY. So, Drakkar-ula Noir comes back and he's all chatty with her, like he wants to be her friend. Until they "accidentally" touch hands.

GIRL GOT ELECTROCUTED. Zapped. I mean, he did too, but since he's undead it didn't knock him out. And then, GET THIS--LL Bean takes care of her like she's a precious baby angel, but when she finally comes to, guess what he says?

He says, "I'd like to feel that touch on my divining rod, if you know what I mean." I think Banner's sense of humor was rubbing off on him. Gross, in so many ways.

And you know what that girl did? She just giggled. So much for women's lib. She laughed and practically flashed her tits at him. I think they skipped school after that. I can't see from here, but it kind of looked like they might have gone off into the woods, if Scabbers can be trusted. Yeah, I have to live with that douche for eternity too. FML.

**BPOV:**  
New school, new life, new friends, new guys falling all over themselves to be "helpful." God, my life was so _hard_. It was _hard_ to be so _pretty_ and not know it. It was _hard_ to blink in Morse code. It was _hard_ smelling so delicious all the time and having the tightest snatch and the drippiest ladyjuices. Damn hard.

As predicted, the boys in schoolyard were all up in my milkshake, because that's what always happened. Maybe that's what life was like when you were born and placed in swaddling hoodie into a platter of mushroom ravioli. My coming was fucking _prophesied_. _Prophesied_, bitches. They were wrestling with each other, trying to jockey for position to be first in line to carry my books, massage my shoulders, admire my vulva tattoo (it was a tattoo of a vulva tattooed directly on top of my vulva). I sighed. It was so _hard_, all this attention. I could see how _hard_ it was, in the crotches of their sad, small-town trousers.

Maybe I never should of left Arizona.

School was boring and predictable, and no one looked as pretty or smelled as delicious as I did. The usual. But at lunch, I saw gigantic green--no, wait, were they ... could they be ... _butterscotch?_--orbs, hair as bronze as a bronze Olympic medal for synchronized swimming, and an exceptionally saucy sleeveless, collared, button-down shirt. Was that color ... _oatmeal_? My heart fluttered. "Who's he?" I asked, my respectably ample b-cup bosom heaving.

"That Adonis guy? That's Edward Cullen. Yeah, don't bother. He doesn't 'do' girls." Somebody Lastnamesomeone gave me the four-one-one. She had a name, but fuck it, I didn't have to learn names. I was Bella Swan. Bella Swan didn't need to learn names of mere mortals.

"So he's gay?" I asked, biting my lip and blinking "strap on" in Morse code with my eyelids.

"No, not gay," said Whatsherface. "I mean, at least, it hasn't been documented. But he doesn't seem interested in the vag. Believe me, I've presented it on a silver platter for him at the all-you-can-eat pussy buffet. He ain't biting."

I licked my lips while he stared at me, all _pale_ and _sociopathic_ and _greenish-butterscotchish orbular_. _Maybe a threeway is in my cards_, I thought.

I thought of him the rest of the day, Mr. Saucy Oatmeal Green Orbserscotch, and wouldn't you know it, we had biology together. _Biology_. It was destiny. I mean, biology: that was all about animals and plants all sexing each other up, right? I wasn't AP for nothing. I was smart, or something. As far as I was concerned, AP stood for _Accelerated Peen_. There was only one empty seat in the class, and the teacher, Mr. Fuck-me-I-don't-have-to-remember-anyone's-name, told me to sit next to _him_, Mr. Green-Scotch Orbs. I got so wet right there, like, _sploosh_, and it spurted down my pants like Old Faithful, and right then, wouldn't you know it, I got caught up in the big fan at the front of the classroom. The odor of my cooter juices wafted on the artificial breeze, and I could see deep pools of green and butterscotch grow impossibly wider, deeper, and the lab table thumped like a bucking bronco from the twitching of his dick.

**Lab Table POV:**  
OMFG was that his DICK hitting my underside? Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY? And I thought all the wads of gum were annoying. It was days like today that made me regret killing that old Russian pawnbroker and being reincarnated, even after the supposed redemption of my soul at the hands of that kind whore with the heart of gold, as this stupid fucking table. Honestly, couldn't a table go one goddamn day without being poked in the table-abdomen by some hard vampire cock? _One_ goddamn day. That was all I was asking.

**BPOV:**  
I strutted to the table and sat down, hoping he didn't notice the big, wet stain down my pants. My juices were so slippery that I nearly slid off the lab stool.

He must have noticed, because he bolted out of there like he'd just jizzed in his pants. I flushed crimson, in my face AND in my clitoris.

My life had no meaning while he was not in the room. He was gone for a whole fucking WEEK. I vowed I would wear the same clothes for three months and stare catatonically out the window. But then one day he came back, so I could breathe again. He sat down next to me, slipping a little in the pool of cervical mucus that had been steadily cascading down my lab stool and collecting under our table for the whole week he was gone. Christ, did the custodial staff never mop in Mr. Whatshisname's room? But anyway, back to thinking about our lab table. _Our _lab table. I liked the sound of that.

Our hands brushed accidentall--ZAP KABOOM UNCONSCIOUSNESS

[FRAME MISSING]

[FRAME MISSING]

[FRAME MISSING]

**EPOV:**

I told myself I wouldn't jizz in my pants again, but I almost did when she fainted. Oh man, when a girl bites her lip, mumbles, and faints A LOT, like Bella Swan does, it totally makes my emo nature straighten out and sparkle, if you know what I mean. I quickly coated her shoes with some rubber cement so that she wouldn't get zapped again when we touched, and it worked. It made her touch feel like pop rocks. You remember pop rocks, right? Sometimes Emmett and I mix up pop rocks with Mountain Dew right before we drink grizzly bear or mountain lion. Shut up. It's kind of white trash, but it adds texture. Don't judge. As if you could. You will never understand the depths of Edward fucking Cullen.

So anyway, I took care of her like a gentleman, and because she smells so fucking good and her brain is either dead or silent or something, which also makes her hot, because man, a quiet woman? Yeah, I'm a douche. When she came to, I got an idea.

"Hey, Bella. How about you and me take a little walk in the woods? I've got a divining rod and I'd like to see what your electric touch does to it."

I swear, I think that stuffed owl rolled its eyes. That bird looks kind of familiar.

Bella seemed to catch my drift, because she giggled and blushed and nodded. I'm pretty sure she's braindead, or is some kind of _Rain Man_ type thing--like she's good at biology, but she's only read three books and has no thoughts besides "mitosis" or "Heathcliff." I bet she's good at Jeopardy. I want this chick to meet my parents. She might stink up my Volvo though. My car freshener would be no match for her overwhelming smell bouquet. I wonder if I could get her to ride on the luggage rack on the roof? Or maybe I'll just ride in her truck. God, girls are complicated, just on a logistics level. But I'd do anything for a pop-rocks handjob.

I follow her out into the woods, because she totally just does whatever I tell her to (hot) while saying nothing (hotter). Then, I also got to watch her ass. Girl is not so great on frontmeat, but her ass is pretty juicy. That could be the source of the odor, come to think of it. When we get to an appropriate spot, I can still smell her stink, even over all the woodsy smells. So I suggest we go for a little ride, and haul her on my back. I totally impress her by running fast. I think she peed a little, because, dang, nobody's vag is that wet.

"So, where's this divining rod?" she asked, with a quizzical quirk of her eyebrow. I hoped she didn't do that often. It could get old, fast.

"Where do you think it is, Pretty Swan?" I asked, touching her cheek to double-check the whole pop rocks thing. This time it was like rice crispies. Snap, crackle, pop. I'd take that too.

"I think it's a party in your pants...and everyone's invited."

God, she was dumb. The line goes _There's a party in my pants, and everybody's coming. _I just smiled and whipped out my johnson. I let it sparkle in the sunlight for her like a majorette's glittery baton. Because I'm a gentleman.

She touched it. UNGH, good! Just like pop rocks. I was right. I'm always right.

"You better hold on tight, spidermonkey!" I said, as she closed her teeny, tiny, itty bitty hands around my sparkling rod.

She giggled, and I put my big cold hands around hers for extra support. It was too late for lube, but I figured she could take a little chafing. She seemed like the martyr type anyway. I hammered into our hands at vamp speed until my jizz came out in jets of ice cold icicles. One of them hit her hoodie, but it must have been an enchanted hoodie, because it just bounced off of it. I swear, when I inspected the hoodie for damage, I could smell the musty ancient odor of mushroom ravioli. God, this girl had layers and layers of mingling sweet and rancid smells. Cheap strawberry shampoo and old mushroom ravioli. Girl-juice and freesia. And they all rammed me like a battering ram.  
**  
BPOV:**  
Pools of green and butterscotch and dazzle were staring down at me. The air smelled strangely of rubber cement. What had just happened? "Edward?" I breathed huskily, my chest heaving with need, my tongue aching to battle for dominance with ... someone ... something ... anything.

He just up and suggested I put my hand on his divining rod, and I told him that I wasn't sure I was allowed, because I wasn't religious, but I followed him out into the woods anyway. I always liked following strange people out into the woods. I couldn't even name all the hobos I'd sucked off back in Arizona. They used to whisper the name "Hooverella" reverently in the train yards back home. What was the appeal of a hobo, smelling strangely of Listerine and baked beans cold from the can? Just thinking about it made me impossibly wetter.

The greenerscotch orbular guy and I were holding hands, and it was all fizzy and sparkly, like my hand was a tablet of Alka-Seltzer and his hand was a pool of water. A deep green, butterscotchtacular pool. I made a mental note that I should write this shit down, because I was like a fucking poet laureate. _Jewel can suck it_, I thought.

I guessed I wasn't moving fast enough for him, because he hauled me on his back like a sack of potatoes and ran into the woods. Somewhere, I could hear a poncy little flute trilling away poncily.

**Flute from **_**Peter and the Wolf**_** POV:**  
How the fuck did I end up here?

**BPOV:**  
We were in this beautiful, perfect meadow, the kind some lady might have a dream about and then build a multimillion dollar franchise upon. He unbuttoned his pants painfully slowly using only his dick, which apparently had an opposable thumb stashed somewhere. Pop. Bulge. Pop. Bulge. Pop. Bulge. Finally he just whipped it out. _SCHPROING_. Sparkly!

His penis, finally unsheathed, was glittering. It was like the beginning of _2001: A Space Odyssey_, with the big black monolith, except pale white and sparkly. I mean, not that I'm racist or anything. It was white and sparkling. I'm just reporting facts. And the smell was inviting. Everything about it was inviting, I mean, the penis practically was holding an engraved invitation printed on Crane's paper in its manly penis hands. The invitation would read:

_Pale Gigantic Cock_  
_and_  
_Glittering Wrinkly Balls_

_invite you to share in the joy_

_of_

_stroking the shit out of them_  
_culminating in, perhaps,_  
_thick, ropey strands of semen_

_Black tie optional_

His cock was so large; I was afraid even my two hands together wouldn't meet around its circumference. I sucked ass at geometry anyway. _2πr_? Was that right? His cock was so long that it was like a fucking hypotenuse anyway. My geometry knowledge could never unlock the secrets of his amazing penis. His balls were like two Rubik's Cubes wrapped in Mylar and sequence. Tentatively, I brought one hand up to his wang, then the other. I tried to interlock my fingers, straining to get them to touch on the other side of his monstrous shaft. No dice. My hands were so tiny, smaller even than the rain, apparently, or some other Neruda shit. I didn't know. It was _hard_ having tiny hands. I had forgotten to mention that part in my first POV, but that didn't make it any less true. My hands were so tiny that every cock was gigantic. Okay, dudes seemed to like that, the way my eyes would boggle when I'd appraise their manhood, but damn, a handjob pretty much wore me out for the day. Sometimes I needed that goo that marathon runners chugged for quick energy. Hells, I even had trouble holding a goddamn pencil in my freakishly tiny hands. They were about the size of teaspoons.

"You'd better hold on tight, spidermonkey," he said as he watched me stroke him. And I held on for all I was worth, gritting my teeth, feeling the burn in my arms as I stroked up and down and up and down. I guessed my speed wasn't enough for him, because he went totally turbo, until his granite-like penis was chafing the shit out of my hands. I so did not want handjob callouses. I would have trouble explaining that to my dad Charlie from Forks, out of the city of Forks, into Forks, unto the city of Meyer, which is also called Forks (because he was of the house and lineage of Meyer).

"Oh, Bella, _Bella_," he hissed, and I thought how strange it was to sound like a teakettle when you were getting your rocks off. But hey, different strokes for different folks, no pun intended. Okay, pun sort of intended.

Before I knew it, it was like fireworks of semen coming out of the head of his penis, I mean right out of his urethra, which is where such fluids usually come. One stream narrowly missed my eye, bouncing instead off my holy hoodie.

"Inside me, now," I panted, and I could practically hear Edward's penis cranking back up to full-mast as he got his full bouncy erection back. _Creak ... creak ... SCHRPOING_. It was magical. I wanted to worship before it.

He fiddled with my jeans, and suddenly they were by my ankles, and I was so wet that I gave him a face full of my own Juicy Juice. He sputtered and coughed, wiping some fluid from his brow. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and my clitoris had never wanted to be a bridge of a nose so much before.

**Bella's Clitoris POV:**  
Uh, speak for yourself. No pinching here. Please. Please don't. Just ... no.

**BPOV:**  
He palmed my breasts with cold, like, doctor-giving-you-a-womanly-exam cold hands, but I still moaned and bit my lip and blinked "Fuck me" in Morse code with my eyes.

"I'm a _monster_," he said. He motioned to his glorious cock. "Do you see that? This is the schlong OF A KILLER, Bella."

"Well, I've got a bleeding hatchet wound, so we're meant to be together," I said.

He clenched his jaw so tightly that I could have sworn I heard teeth breaking. I wished I knew what he was thinking. He shook his head, relaxed, and just rammed into me all at once, his penis so rough that he was scraping the insides of my vagina raw, despite the copious amounts of fluid coating everything. "I'm a virgin," I said, but all he did was thrust harder and harder.

"You're so tight, Bella," he groaned. "It's like trying to jam a Coke can into the eye of a needle."

"Oh, Edward," I said as his rod poked around, struggling to find purchase against the muscled walls of my birth canal. "Oh! I think I'm going to ... _unnnggggh_." I shivered, and my muscles clenched over and over again, my orgasm dragging me in its undertow even though I was a vagina-virgin (not a mouth or butt virgin). Edward's greeny butterscotch pools of brown went a bit cross-eyed, making him only more adorable, and I could feel the jets of freezing spooge burst into me like when you bite into a Chewel. The force was so great; it reminded me of that game at the carnival when you shoot a garden hose into the clown mouth to make the balloon inflate, and if you get there first, you win a prize.

I won the prize of Edward's dazzling, sparkling semen, which was way better than a cheap stuffed animal filled with styrofoam beads, but only marginally better than a plastic toy harmonica.

**Bella's ovum POV:**  
I was just hanging around, minding my own business, when I heard this rushing sound, like an oncoming avalanche. What on earth?

**Edward's semen POV:**  
I was out! Out! Free of the Master's Balls! I ran in formation, just as we'd been trained. _Search, invade, conquer, fertilize_! That was the Code of the Semens. I saw the ovum before my multitude of brothers. The ovum was not expecting us; that much was clear. She started to roll away slowly.

I mocked her. "AS IF YOU COULD OUTRUN ME!" I taunted, easily catching up, my flagellum working overtime to get me all up inside her bewitching membrane. I took a deep breath and plunged into her, and ... MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. We were joined, transforming into something else. I may have bitten a pillow in my attempt not to break her fragile ovum membrane too much. Where did I get a tiny, sperm-sized pillow? That's not important. Focus, people. There's SEX happening here.

**BPOV:**  
Suddenly I felt something nudging my insides. For all intensive porpoises (and I'd never met a porpoise that wasn't severely intense), it was like his jism was poking around my uterus and making a baby. But I didn't ever use birth control, because I was a vagina-virgin, and also you couldn't get pregnant in the mouth or butt. I was in AP bio; I knew such things.

He pulled out of me with a popping sound, and my vagina deflated like a sad balloon. But then I felt more nudging inside me, poky fingers of something, and heard a faint cry deep within my womanly parts, and I knew it couldn't just be his bossy semens.

"I know what you are," I said, gasping as I watched his glittering penis wiggle and dance as it recovered from the constrictions of my tight snatch.

He looked at me sort of constipated-like, but also kind of sexy constipated, like he had a big marble turd shaped like the Venus de Milo crammed in his large intestine. "Then say it ... out loud," he said, shifting as if the turd were prairie-dogging a little.

"Your skin ... it's ice cold ... your penis feels like an icicle ... you didn't once try to put it up my ass ... you sparkle in the sunlight ..."

"Say it," he commanded, leaning in impossibly closer.

"Zombie," I said, so turned on that my nipples popped out, poking Edward in the eye.

"Close enough," he said, wincing and blinking. "Are you afraid?"

"No!" I shouted, causing Edward to flinch almost imperceptibly. "Oh, and I should tell you that I think I'm pregnant."

"Wait, whut?" said Edward.

**

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Chapter Two:**

**SEVERAL HOURS LATER**

**Pregnancy Test POV:**  
So there I was, minding my own business, when I felt a cold hand on my box. Yeah, I said it. My box. I was shoved roughly into a paper sack, and then went on a long ride. "How can you be, like, automatically pregnant?" this man kept saying. "We just, you know, _did it_."

"I don't know," monotoned a voice, female, maybe, but just barely, "but I love it. I don't care if it breaks my spine and makes me drink blood and you have to chomp out my uterus to get it out. We are having this baby, Edward Cullen."

I was taken out of the sack, and then the cold fingers ripped my box open. Warmer hands took me, took off my hat, and then ... I couldn't even say it ... something fucking peed on me. Peed. That was so not cool. First the pink control line showed up. Then the second line indicating pregnancy showed up in the window. Then two little fangs appeared on the second line, indicating a freaky vampire-human hybrid pregnancy.

I heard something like the sound of a marble Adonis statue hitting cold bathroom tile.

**

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Chapter Three:**

**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

**Twelve-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash POV:  
**So bella was like really getting fat from the babby she had in her belly because she and edward had the sex in her vagina. I mean, his penis in her vagina, and it went in and out a bunch of times until the milky stuff came out of the top. There was also precum, because thats what i red one tim, even though i don't know what that is. That's how babby is formed.

Jasper come to the house, I mean the house that belonged to edward's parent's's's's. It was big because the Cullenseses's were rich. Alice had a yellow Porch because that one time in the second book, she stole a yellow Porch. Oh yeah I didn't introduce Alice yet she is edward sister and she like to shop she like a pixie and she is bellas best friend and forces her to wear desiner cloths like prada and versachee. Tinkerbell.

Edward was lieing on the sofa with his dick out because he was tired of bella not letting him stick his penis in her holes. Jasper saw him and his eyes got really big, like anime big. He got all hard in his pants, I mean, like, his peenus got super hard and than edward saw how hard jasper was and that made edward hard and the precum came out again and froze instantly on his cold dick just like Magic Shell. And Jasper said hey edward im not gay or anything but i want to lick your Magic Shell dick like suck it in my mouth and then you can mouthfuck me does that sound cool.

Edward sighed and said ok so him and jasper did it. Right then bella came down the stairs. God she got fat. Her face was puffy and she was all, oh my god what are you doing with your dick in Jaspers's mouth?

Why don't you join in the party? asked edward, and then jasper got extra super hard and busted right through his jeans zipper like Kool-Aid through a brick wall. OH YEAH!

Jasper didn't think bella wood be into that guy on guy menasha twa business, but come to find out she was super kinky. Him and edward took turns taking off bella'ses cloths, and everyones's clothes were suddenly gone, jasper don't know how, and than it was like everyone each had six arms and a finger or dick in every one of they're hole's. Jasper rammed into bella while edward jammed his cook in jaspers ass and god it felt so good everyone had an orangasm at the same time while edward cuntinued his tender menstruations all over her face and giant fat belly. From inside the babby punched jasper in the nutsac because even the babby knew that jasper shouldn't of bin in there. Than jasper an edward stuck there dick's in their asses and they were both like super loose because of the Magic Shell precum and they both swore they were not gay but that they liked a little cock now and again. In the ass. No they did not need any stretching or loob. Loob was for pussies. Or, you know. Real men just shoved their dick's all up in that mess and it was like super hot and stuff.

Bella did sum self touching.

**

* * *

Chapter Four:**

**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

**Lazy Narrator POV:**  
So then there was like some dramaz with Victoria and her newborn vampire army because of some old grudge match. Oh and also, Bella had met Jacob, who was a werewolf. He liked her alot, and she used him whenever Edward wasn't paying enough attention to her. Sometimes she fantasized about the three of them having relations in a cave in a cold place, but the sex part would happen in her warm hidey-hole. Then Jake would fix her truck for her. And by "truck" I mean "vagina." Also, motorcycles. He took off his shirt alot.

**Jacob POV:**

My cunning plan had worked. For someone who can read minds, Edward fell into that trap way too easily. I was shocked at how easily he had given in, even though I was having fantasies about doing Bella in the cave I had picked out for us. Either he was zoning out on my constant fantasies about his girlfriend or he didn't stop to think that human Bella spending the night in a frozen cave with nobody but her frozen boyfriend and her hot, sweaty "best" friend wasn't going to end up with me as her human eclectric blanket. Maybe he just wanted to watch. Perv.

Whatever, Leech, just as long as I get the chance to get up in them guts, I'll be happy. Mmmm, Bella's guts. I love that little tease.

If I whore a watch, I'd be looking at it right now. Any minute now, they're going to fold, and ask me to come warm her up. I didn't count on them being so dense, or masochistic, like some sort of weird masochistic lion, because everyone in our tribe knows that lions are the only creatures in the animal world that show masochistic tendencies f'reals, I read it in a book in the La Push Bookmobile, or some combination of the two. Her teeth were going to chatter right off.

"N-n-n-nooooo, Edward, I'm n-n-not c-c-c-c-c-old!" she protested weakly.

"My darling, you are carrying my child, therefore you must stay warm. If not for you then for me. If not for me, then for the baby, which we both agree and have seen in dream-visions is most certainly a boy. Bella, before I met you my life was a sunless sky, with some kind of interesting stars, or at least passing jets, but nothing truly worth my precious time. It was like that time after sunset but before the night comes, I think there's a name for it, it might make a good title for a book maybe, _crepuscular_ ... no that's not right ... _early evening light_? Anyway, Bella, before you-" he kept droning on and on, lapsing into what I suspect was iambic pentameter. I wondered if he imagined her as a boy when they did it.

Wait, WHAT? Bella getting knocked up by a leech was going to put a damper on my plans for our Happily Ever After.

On the other hand, pregnant pussy can't get pregnant. NICE.

On the other hand, if pregnant pussy COULD get pregernant, like double pregernant, then I could even the score with Mister Prissy Pants over there, and she'd still have to choose. I decided to move on to Phase II of Operation Make Bella My Bitch without them. It would be better if it were one of their ideas, but she was starting to get frostbite and he seemed to be just getting started on a long monologue about his epic love for her. Christ--I mean, Quileute Wolf Spirit--this was boring.

I walked in, wearing only my tiny cutoff jorts, vadgelike cave-drawing tat, and my stunning 12-pack of abdominal muscles. And two tickets to the gun show.

"Hello, Biceps!" Bella said, clearly enjoying the gun show. I flexed them for her, and smiled in the toothy way she liked. Edward rolled his eyes. It sounded like marble spinning around in a stone bowl.

YEAH, CAUSE YOU AIN'T GOT NO TWELVE PACK, AND VERY WEAK GUNS, I screamed at him in my mind. Just wanting to make sure he could hear me.

"Can you turn that down, please?" he winced. Booyah. "Yes, I can hear you, Jake. You don't have to shout. Yes, she likes your muscles, and technically you do look better without a shirt on than I do. Technically you are also jailbait. So, calm down, Bella. You are carrying my baby, after all, which totally makes you my mate."  
_  
Fucker. he had to bring that up again. _

"Yes, I did." he smirked. Asshole. "What are you doing here, Jake?"

"She's cold, and I'm 108 degrees, according to the giant meat thermometer in my jorts, no matter what the weather is doing."

"S-s-s-s-so?" Bella said, while Edward looked confused. Seriously, these kids are in honors classes? God, I hate palefaces.

"That's racist!" said Edward. "Don't they have race sensitivity training at that Injun Rez school of yours? Or are you all too busy setting up your casino?"

"DON'T YOU GET IT? I'm not just hot. I'm supernaturally hot. She needs me, Broseph. Bella, unzip that sleeping bag. Imma get up on you."

"N-n-no!" Bella cried, though she was still staring at my abs and I swear, a little drool was coming out of her mouth. It was so fucking cold in there that the drool froze immediately into a little spit-sicle.

"My darling, if this is what it takes for you and my baby to survive, I am prepared to make this horrible sacrifice of watching you rub up against that incredibly hot, muscular, underaged man-boy with russet-potato skin and gleaming white teeth." Edward sighed melodramatically. I swear a little glitter-drool was coming out of his mouth too.

I knew he wasn't all the way straight. Just look at him.

_Whatever, Leech. Look all you want, but the only creature in this room who can touch me is your luscious girlfriend here. _He looked anguished, but also like he might be trying to hide a stiffy. _Gross._

_Oh man, Why didn't I stock some Barry White up in here? _I thought as I climbed in the sleeping bag, which was damp and stiff with what I could only assume was half-frozen Bella-juice. It was kind of like a cooter-drippings slushie all up in there. It was going to be awkward with the leech perving out in the corner. Bella was already snoring. Like that would stop me. I didn't want to talk to her, after all. I just wanted to plow her fertile fields, and she didn't need to be awake for that shit. Sleep on, girl. I'll catch your dreams. Because nothing says "NATIVE AMERICAN" like a cheesy dream-catcher.

**BPOV: **

I was so fucking cold. Colder than that time I'd fallen asleep in the woods when Edward tried to leave me for my own good. I was going to die. I hoped that at least Edward would continue to fuck me when I was a corpse. I'd probably still feel warm to him. Suddenly I wasn't cold anymore. It was like an electric blanket had been wrapped around me. I thought for some reason of hoodies and a platter of mushroom ravioli, but I knew I must be dreaming.

A sinister old man was sitting in a chair. He had jowls like a bulldog. "BELLA SWAN SHOULD STOP DICKING AROUND AND JUST CHOOSE ONE OF THESE MEN!" he shouted. "Potter!"

A small guy with his dead mother's eyes and glasses and a lightning-bolt scar said, "Erm, pardon? I don't know why I am here."

"WRONG!" shouted the old guy. "Granger!"

"Well, anyone who has read _Forks High: A History_ would know that you can't put a vampire and a werewolf in a blood-typing lab unless you have a strong draught of living death..." began a girl with crazy frizzy hair and buck teeth.

"WRONG!" shouted the old guy again. "The correct answer is BELLA SWAN IS A COCKTEASE, PURE AND SIMPLE."

"Ummm," said the guy in glasses.

"I'm quite sure that wasn't in _Forks High: A History_," huffed the frizzy-haired girl.

Then the old guy looked directly to me. "Next on _The McLaughlin Group_: WHY IS BELLA SWAN SUCH A STONE COLD BITCH? AND CAN WE SEE HER IN A THREEWAY?"

"Whut?" I said. "Ummm. Are you talking to me?" But he turned into a giant penis made of smoke. I ran to it, and I was surprised to see my grandmother there too, running for the giant smoke penis at the same speed I was. We would collide right around the smoky cock, but it disappeared around me, and I ran smack into her. Except she wasn't there. It was me. My reflection stared back at me, but I was icky and old and smelled like Ben-Gay. Where was the giant smoke penis? Where was my grandmother? Why did I not smell even a hint of freesia? Why was I old? I looked down. Even my vagina had crow's feet.

"Now serving 69!" said a voice, and a clit-shaped light flashed "69" again and again in the corner. I looked down at my hand, and I had a slip of paper with the number 69 on it.

"That's me!" I said, waving the paper.

"You are too old for 69," said the deli man behind the counter, who had a wolf's head but a pale, sparkling body.

"But I was _promised_ a threeway!" I protested, pouting and kicking dust up with my Chucks. Yes, even in my dreams I wore Chucks. They were canon.

There were wavy lines, and I was transported to a magical place. Everything was two-dimensional and brightly colored. There was some sailor fellow with a squinty eye and HUGE forearms, probably from yanking his wankie, if you know what I'm sayin'. "Threeway, ya say?" He winked at me. "Bluto? Get your furry ass over here!"

I heard pounding, and then there was this great big bear of a man with a big black fuzzy beard like those stills of that young gentleman's crotch I saw from the new Broadway production of _Equus_.

"Yer not as skinny as Olive, but you'll do," said the big guy. "Popeye?" he asked, turning to his friend. "I didn't know you liked me like that, like in a cock-up-the-ass way."

"I yam what I yam," he said, and then things got weird.

"I want out!" I screamed, unable to handle the sight of the sailor guy with the large forearms deep-throating the industrial-sized can of spinach.

There were more wavy lines, and I was tied down in a big green field. I was naked, and there were tiny creatures licking and nibbling all over me. They looked like bears, but they were all colored like Froot Loops. "Caring is sharing!" they said as they took turns licking my vagina.

One bear with a crooked rocket-looking thing on his chest strolled right up to me and stuck in his tiny bear penis. "Oops," he said a second later.

"Premature Ejaculation Bear!" chastised the other bears, hands on their adorable little stuffed bear hips.

"Never send in a boy bear to do a man bear's job," said a burly little bear.

"Neverending Erection Bear!" the others shouted, clapping their formless paws together and hopping up and down. He rammed into me until I was coming all over, and he looked at me. "What do we say, Bella Swan?"

"Uhh, thank you?"

"You had at least three orgasms by my count," said Neverending Erection Bear. Abacus Bear nodded solemnly, tapping the abacus on his belly.

"Thank you beary much?"

"Was that so hard?" he said, shaking his beary head. "Ungrateful teenagers."

**

* * *

Chapter Five:**

**MOMENTS LATER**

**BPOV:**  
I woke up wet and twitching on my insides, and Jacob was staring at me with lust and ew gross. Although that twelve-pack was looking pretty good, not gonna lie. "I had a strange dream," I said. "I think it means ... _caring is sharing_. Jacob, you are supposed to share me with Edward! Either that, or I need to eat more spinach bc I'm borderline anemic from only nibbling at veg ravioli and lasagna and drinking lemonade a couple days a week?"

"Sure, sure, Bells," said Jacob, and the guy was so pussy-whipped that I didn't know how he even could pee standing up. I supposed that when he peed as a wolf, it was on all fours anyway, or on three legs with a back leg in the air, and I wondered if he peed with his left rear leg or right rear leg in the air, and if he ate his own poo. It was still so cold that I clenched my buttcheeks, but the clench didn't reach my anal sphincter.

And then I would never be sure if it were a hallucination from being so cold and lying in a slushie of my own cooter juices, or if it really happened, but Jake kind of humped my leg, but my body was so numb from the cold that I couldn't tell if he was just humping my leg or if his penis fell in me a few times.

I heard dozens of vampire feet marching, and then I knew it was time for the Epic Battle of Epicness.

**Lazy Narrator POV:**  
So yeah, there was, uh, fighting. Like, vampires came. Victoria was there with newborn vamps. It looked dicey for a while, and right when you thought Edward or Jacob were going to get eaten or have their heads ripped off or something cool, it was all [fwah fwah] _loser horn_ and the battle was over before it ever got awesome. "Premature Ejaculation Bear!" scolded a hundred pastel-colored bears in another dimension.

**

* * *

Chapter Six:**

**SEVERAL DAYS LATER**

**BPOV:**  
The epic battle still weighing heavily on my mind. I felt so guilty, all this destruction that had taken place because of lil' ol' tight-snatched me. The baby inside me broke my spine, which hurt like a sonuvabitch.

**Bella's Spine POV:**  
Truth. And OW MOTHERFUCKING OW.

**BPOV:**  
So then my water broke, and it was like that liquidy stuff inside a snowglobe, clear with glittery things in it. "Our baby is coming, darling Edward!" I cried out as the baby kicked one of my vertebrae so hard that it burst out of my back skin. But all I had to do was look at Edward's greenerscotch pools, and I was calm. "My love, my love!" I said over and over, while he filed his teeth on an emery board.

"Are you ready for me to OM NOM NOM your uterus?" Edward asked.

"What about our birth plan?" I said. "I thought we were going to play Yanni in a darkened room, and I was going to do my deep breathing, and you were going to massage my perineum with your venom."

"Right. Of course," he said with chagrin, but fuck him, I fucking love Yanni.

Then Jacob came in the room. "... when ... did ... you ... get so fat?" I asked, doing Lamaze breaths in between words.

His stomach seemed to be moving. And he was wearing a trenchcoat. Actually it was hospital scrubs fashioned into a trenchcoat, and I remembered that he was a whiz at Home Ec.

"I'm not fat, I'm just getting bigger abs," he said proudly. I thought I heard his abs whimper a little. Maybe he was working them too hard.

I waited for my cervix to dilate, but all I could feel was kicking and vertebrae being kicked out of place and ribs cracking, and then Edward said, "Oh fornicate me, it has to be now!" and he took a big bite out of my belly. CHOMP.

"Epidural!" I shouted in agony, but Edward had tasted my delicious blood, and he couldn't stop OM NOM NOMMing. Jacob seemed awfully happy about something, and why the fuck was he in the delivery room anyway? Did he have doula training? I guess since he was all Native American and shit, maybe he knew some special stuff the Palefaces didn't about cervixes and whatnot.

Edward lifted up this creepy looking baby. Because I'm an AP Biology student, I immediately identified it as female.

That fucker checked to see if I was right.

"Yep, it's a girl," he said, biting her umbilical cord like he was trying to floss and covering her up with my mushroom ravioli hoodie. I looked at him smugly through my eyelashes. "And she's got teeth already. Daddy's little girl nomnommed on Mommy's uterus too, didn't you, baby? So helpful already, doing chores."

"Her name shall be RENESMEE, a clever combining of the names Renee and Esme," I said, and everyone gasped at what a beautiful name I had created.

They were so jealous. They were about to get even impossibly barely perceptibly more jealouser.

"And her middle name shall be CARLEY, which, if you simpletons can follow the pattern, is an equally clever combination of Carlisle and Charlie." Yes, another round of jealous gasps. Nailed it!

"Jesus Christ," said Emmett under his breath. I think he's going to ask me to give him a new name, because I'm so good at naming people. If he's nice, I'll hook him up.

"Good job with the name," Rose said, snatching up my baby. "Now go ahead and die already."

"WAIT! I SEE ANOTHER BABY!" yelled Jake from between my legs. I hadn't noticed him down there, what with my spine being broken and all. I was double pregnant? How did that happen? Could that night in the cooter juice slushie sleeping bag ... ? He held up another baby, who had tan skin, black gleaming hair and well defined abdominal muscles.

Edward scowled at me.

"I thought it was a dream!" I shrugged defensively. "Besides, that baby doesn't even look like me."

"Give our baby an awesome name too," said Jake.

"Ummm, let me think for a second... We shall call him Barley! Wait, no, Chilly! Wait, I've got it! He shall be named Chilly Barley!" I cried, and everyone gasped again.

Then I noticed how much blood was everywhere, and how everyone looked like they wanted to nomnom on me. Then they all nomnommed a little bit, and I started noticing the venom was really really hurting. And it was really hard, because I just had a baby. Or maybe two. You know? I started to feel faint.

"Jake ..." I said with gasping breaths, looking more closely at his homemade hospital scrubs trenchcoat--was that hand-beading? "You're ... such ... a ... pussy ..." were my last words.

**

* * *

Chapter Seven:**

**THREE DAYS LATER**

**BPOV:  
**So, yeah, I was a vampire now, and I had two babies. They'd hiss at each other in their little shared crib. Rosalie clucked over them like she'd never read Betty Friedan, and she wouldn't let me near them. She thought I'd see them like delicious roast chickens and try to nom on them, but I was a good mom. I would never nom on my baby--babies. I mean, shit, yo.

Edward had been distant ever since my change. He gave me the cold--I mean, _colder_ shoulder, certain I'd cheated on him with Jacob to make Chilly Barley. I desperately wanted Edward to fuck me senseless now that I had vampire strength and a clit that finally could be pinched and stretched to the ceiling and back, so I thought maybe a paternity test would make him feel better about things. Carlisle took care of it all, and he tried to drag out the findings more than the stupid _American Idol_ results show. But it didn't matter, because Edward could read minds anyway, so as soon as Carlisle came into the living room with the crisp manila envelope, Edward ran at me with his hands out, yelling, "You slattern! You _laid with_ that dog, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?" His hands closed around my neck, and he choked me as hard as he could, which was pretty hard, but come on, have you ever heard of a vampire that was choked to death? Lamesauce.

"I'm sorry, Edward," said Carlisle with his stupid ass face full of stupid ass compassion. "But yes, Jacob is the father of Chilly Barley."

Edward started whimpering like a little girl, and Jacob came out of nowhere and did a victory lap, singing "We Are the Champions" at the top of his lungs.

I was so not getting laid anytime soon. Fucking werewolf and fucking double pregnancy. Fuck my fucking fertility.

**

* * *

Chapter Eight:**

**SEVERAL WEEKS LATER**

**Twelve-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash POV:  
**So noone having sex because edward was jealus off jacobs and bellas a fair, but than emmet oh yah emmet is also edwards brother has he bin in this story yet? Anyways emmet and rosalie still had alot of sex because thats what they did. Emmet said hey babe maybe we should invite bella to play naked games with us since edward is being a pussy and wont have sex with bella in her vagina but rosalie you know rosalie she is a bitch so she was like no way bella suck's and emmet siad yeah thats what i'm hoping you know an than rosalie kicked him hard in the ball's so than noone really was not having sex in the vagina or the ass.

So then bella was watching TV and self touching because noone wood touch her in that way, and that man came on the TV who does the boot camp and the babby daddy tests and bella thought maybe that wood be a good idea but maybe they could check for babby mommy with chili barley since edward woodn't put his penis in bellas vagina place and than jasper had six cooks in his butt like at one tim with some more vampires that were gay. They're were alot of gay vampires in Forks and noone ever new because they were to busy having sex in their vagina's and buts to look for gay vampires.

**

* * *

Chapter Nine:**

**EVEN MORE SEVERAL MORE WEEKS LATER **

**Maury POV:**

I've done a lot of paternity shows, but this was my first maternity one. I almost didn't do it until they told me it involved a love triangle between a human girl, a vampire, and a wolfboy, and that they were all good-looking. This could be my best rating show ever. Suck on that, Springer.

Best thing was, I did my research beforehand. Of course I knew the test results before the show. You think we leave that up to chance? They kind of pulled a fast one on me when the mom showed up as a vampire, too, but they had some old DNA samples from the bloodbath that was the C-Section. Then I got a whiff of the babies' names and almost called Child Protective Services for that reason alone. No children, not even mutant ones, deserve names like that. I've been doing this show a long time, and I know without a doubt that Renesmee Carlie would be back on this stage in no time, this time as an out-of-control teen, stripping and hooking for attention and money and saying "Whatevuhhh! Ah do what ah want!" And Chilly Barley, well... That wolf-baby has no chance at a decent life. Maybe after this show that would all change.

I had a big surprise up my sleeve for these guys.

They came on stage one at a time, and the audience went wild. All the women screamed at the closeted homosexual vampire called Edward, and for some reason all the men in the audience seemed to want to ask Bella to some dance. They both rolled their eyes repeatedly at all the unwanted attention, like they were bored with it all. The audience ATE IT UP. We played soft music while we told their sweet love story, and showed pictures of the adorable Renesmee Carlie. She was going to make a lot of money as a stripper, you could tell just by the pictures of her tiny, perfect, milky-white teeth. I think this job is fucking with my moral compass. I digress. Of course, we showed pictures of Jacob backstage, pacing like a wolf, as Edward told how Jacob was always after his girlfriend, even after she became pregnant with Renesmee Carlie. He told in heartbreaking detail of Jake's deception to get Bella in the cave, and of his torture having to watch as his girlfriend slept while Jake in all his naked glory dry-humped her throughout the night. He spoke in great detail about Jacob's rock hard abs and his bulging biceps. He seemed a little obsessed, to be honest. Looking at Jake, I couldn't really blame him. I might be a little gay for this kid, too. Fucking moral compass. DESTROYED.

Then out came Jacob, and at first the audience booed, but then Jake took his shirt off, and there were sighs of admiration and longing from everyone in the crowd. I think Edward was drooling and smirking at the same time, if that's even possible. Jake seemed nervous, as well he should be, when I took out the large manila envelope. This was my moment.

"In the case of Chilly Barley," I shrieked, milking my moment like I'd like to milk Jake's rock-hard cock. "YOU, BELLA CULLEN, are NOT THE MOTHER."

Bella and Edward embraced, with creepy little Renesmee grinning between them.

"I knew you were up to something when I was nomnomming her uterus!" Edward yelled. "You were putting that baby up her hoo-ha, weren't you!"

Jacob cried like a bitch and tried to run away, but our security guards caught him. Then he totally phased into a wolf. ON CAMERA. I may get a Pulitzer for this, or at least a Peabody. Suck it Springer, suck it long and hard. One security guard is still in intensive care, but we're milking that angle too. Like I want to milk Edward's long, hard, sparkly...oh man, this is getting confusing. Anyway, that's when I called out my surprise guest.

"Leah Clearwater, can you come out here please?" I call, and the hottest looking Indian (feathers, not dots) chick comes out. She's wearing tiny jorts, like Jacob's, and a bikini top with extra triangles for some reason. She's got stretch marks on her belly, but other than that she's practically a Playboy centerfold. With extra boobs. And who doesn't like extra boobs?

"GIVE ME MAH BABY!" she yells, and lurches after Chilly Barley.

Then, she did something that is going to make my ratings forever. She whipped out a boob and breastfed him RIGHT ON STAGE. ON CAMERA. It was epic. She had, like, six teats on her belly. I'd never seen anything like it.

**

* * *

PLEASE RED AND REVIEW AND TELL USE IF YOU WANT MAY BE A SEAQUEL????????**


	2. The Seagull: Chilly's Song

**I** **Wanna Eff You Like a Masochistic ****Seagull: Chilly's Song**

**another epic of naval proportions**

**"honoring" the "works" "of" Chekhov, Rowling, "Meyer," Burgess, Dostoyevsk****y****, Nabokov, Melville, "and" King**

**starring Bella and Edward and Renesmee and Chilly Barley and Jacob and Lasagna and Lotion and Strobe Light and special guest secret Dom/sub action**

**by Feisty Y. Beden,**** Philadelphic, and NelsonSmandela**

**celebetaed by Tim Gunn, of Bravo Television**

**EPIC A/N: Without your reckless and masochistic encouragement, we wouldn't be violating your eyes again with this horror. You have only yourselves to blame. We also want to thank you for voting to make us, officially, the worst writers in this monkeyfucking fandom. Have you read Stephen King's **_**Carrie**_**, or maybe you saw the movie with Sissy Spacek? No? If you have, just skip over this. If you haven't all you need to know is that Carrie is a skeered girl with a crazy mom who doesn't tell her anything about being a woman other than it's all shameful and she calls boobs ****"****dirty pillows****"**** and Carrie gets confused when she gets her period, and the girls in high school locker room, not having Facebook at that time****,**** just throw tampons at her (yeah, like they'd admit to having one if you needed it, AND ALSO feminine hygiene products are motherfucking expensive; like they'd really waste their perfectly good tampons just to torment the weird naked girl bleeding from her vagina; like REALLY, the telekinesis I can believe, but the wanton wasting of expensive tampons: you just lost me, Stephen King—oh wait, I just remembered that I think they broke the tampon dispenser in the girls' room to get the tampons, but still, it's a waste of feminine hygiene product, Mr. King, and the wasting of finite feminine-hygiene resources is everyone's business) and then commit horrible girl-on-girl violence to her until she gets pigs' blood dumped on her at prom (oh, NOW you've heard of it)****,**** and then she kills everyone with her brain. Which is why higher education is not good for women. Because they will kill you. With their brain. On account of the bleeding from the vagina.**

**Disclaimer: It is our love of fanfic that compels us to mock it, and ourselves. Any similarities to persons real or imaginary or historical or sociopathic or your mom are purely coincidental.**

**

* * *

Chekhov POV:**  
SORIN. Do you know, my boy, I like literary men. I once passionately desired two things: to marry, and to become an author. I have succeeded in neither. It must be pleasant to be even an insignificant author.

TREPLIEFF. [Listening] I hear footsteps! [He embraces his uncle] I cannot live without her; even the sound of her footsteps is music to me. I am madly happy. [He goes quickly to meet NINA, who comes in at that moment] My enchantress! My girl of dreams!

NINA. [Excitedly] It can't be that I am late? No, I am not late.

TREPLIEFF. [Kissing her hands] No, no, no!

NINA. I have been in a fever all day, I was so afraid my father would prevent my coming, but he and my stepmother have just gone driving. The sky is clear, the moon is rising. How I hurried to get here! How I urged my horse to go faster and faster!

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV: [coughs discreetly, waving his crisp linen pocket square to get Chekhov's attention, whispers]**_

**Chekhov POV:** **Um, ahem, what? But is this not **_**The Sea-gull**_**? For it says so, right at the very top!**

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV:**__** I'm a connoisseur of your entire catalogue, Mr. Chekhov, but trust me, this isn't the audience you should be canvassing.**_

**Chekhov POV: My mistake ... BRB, working on angst fic.**

**

* * *

Chilly Barley POV:**  
As I stood under one of the showerheads in the boys' communal shower, I thought about how much I hated this school. I didn't even know why I went here. Technically I should have gone to the Rez school, especially since they'd proven that no Paleface or undead-extra-pasty Paleface was my parent on that humiliating talk show when I was a baby. I was 100% russet-skinned Native-American.

But then my dad had insisted on moving away from the Rez into Forks' school district. He was a weird guy, always doing stomach crunches whenever he wasn't looking new-moonily at the Palefaces and the undead Palefaces who lived next door. And the Paleface/undead Paleface daughter. Okay, I supposed Renesmee made the school worth it. Her tinkly laugh, her twirling and sparkling and perky Paleboobies were really ... oh, man. They were like two coconut-frosted cupcakes with pink jellybeans on them. I mean, I imagined. I mean, I _hoped_ she had nipples like delicate pink jellybeans, not like big dark slices of pepperoni. But I'd accept her either way, because, well, that's how love worked. And as long as some sort of food flavor was present in the nipular area.

Today in math class, she'd tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had a pencil. When she touched me, I saw beautiful pictures, pictures of her smiling face, and someone who looked like me, kind of, I mean, it was just a view from the back of long, swinging, proud Russet-American hair. So we—or she and this other long-haired Russet-American—were running in slow-motion down the beach at La Push, dressed inexplicably in handmade Amish finery. I just got all red—russet—in the face, I mean, russetter. _Oh, her pretty little hands, tiny like ... like teaspoons ... and rain ... and ... oh, god. Oh god. _Suddenly I felt a weird rushing of blood and a ... _tightening_, kind of really low down on my body. Kind of like in the dirty-boy-no-touchy area.

I rubbed the soap out of my eyes and let the hot jets of water run down my face. When I looked down, my russet netherpotato was flaring up like a crazy tuber one would top with marshmallows and brown sugar, as if I'd just put it in the microwave without using a fork, probably from Forks, to poke steam holes in it first. No matter how I much I tried to control my breathing, my netherpotato just kept expanding, unfurling like a fireworks snake, pointing straight up at the sky like it had just seen the Hindenburg burst into flame.

"Oh shit!" I cried out. "I think my dick is going to explode! Does anyone know how to defuse this thing? Oh god, help me! I don't want to die! I never even got to go to Pottery Barn!"

The other guys from my gym class stopped whipping towels at each other's asses heterosexually and ran to see what the commotion was all about. Maybe they would help. Maybe someone would fetch the school nurse. Maybe I wouldn't lose my penis.

"Clear-twatter's got a boner!" someone yelled, and everyone laughed and pointed. What was worse was that my no-no-bad-boy-piss-pole pointed right back at them, without my consent!

I tried to ignore the butchering of my mom's honorable last name. _Boner? What the hell was a boner?_

"Can you help me?" I asked, one hand on my delicate, throbbing rainstick, the other held out in supplication. "I ... might need my penis some day. OH MY GOD, I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" I shrieked simultaneously in Quileute and English and Elvish, my voice cracking.

"Clear-twatter doesn't know what a boner is!" Jessichael Newtonley announced, which sent the rest of the guys running over. "Look at him and his weird red dick!"

"It's not red; it's _russet_, you racist douchebags!" I yelled.

Before I knew what was happening, all the jock assholes were throwing stuff at me: bottles of lotion, boxes of tissues, even some tube socks.

"_Rub one out! Rub one out! Rub one out!_" they chanted like zombies. I collapsed into the corner of the shower, not caring that my bare terracotta ass was now touching the slimy, mildewed tile. My asscrack was already burning from the Athlete's Foot fungus there. Could one get Athlete's Asscrack? I shielded my head from the bottles and the oozing lotion they were now squirting on me, and they never once stopped yelling, _"Rub one out! Rub one out!"_ And no one was helping me. My penis was going to explode like a Rez ceremonial bonfire, and they were pelting me with shit.

"What's going on here?" I heard Coach Cheney blow his whistle and shove boys aside. "What are you _doing_ to him?" he demanded. "Clearwater!" he shouted at me, tossing over a washcloth. "Cover your peace pipe."

"I'm dying!" I gasped, staring blankly at the washcloth. "I'm going to lose my penis! Tell my mom ... tell her I love her."

And then I fainted, water continuing to fall on my prone body, my netherpotato still pointing at the ceiling like a rocket ready to go off.

**

* * *

Hedwig POV:  
**Well, now, that was quite a night. The night all my dreams finally came true. Years and months of surly silence, watching the beautiful Russian lab table brood and seethe and steep in sexy regret, witnessing his silent torment as cock after cold vampire cock thumped into his noble imported wooden, assbestos-covered surface, just wishing that I could be the one to whom he would turn. That _I_ would be the one from whom he would seek solace. That my feathered thighs would be the ones between which he would seek his absolution for his former hatchety crimes against the wrinkly pawn-shop owner.

But no, the table hated himself too much to pursue a life (or an inanimate afterlife) with me. I had given up all hope. I had given up everything I could, but I couldn't stop the erotic dreams from penetrating my bird brain when I slept, much like I wanted his morning wood to penetrate my cloaca. Little did I know that I would, one fine evening, get my chance at happiness.

I had dozed off for a moment and was dreaming I was still in the owlery back at Hogwarts. It was pleasant—I could almost smell that tangy zip of owl shit and feel the crisp fall wind ruffle my feathers. I heard a mournful creaking sound, which I initially attributed to the Whomping Willow, but it was just that gorgeous, self-flagellating table again. In the moonlight it almost looked as if he were watching me, making eyes at me. Was it just a cruel trick of the night? It had been so long since I'd gotten my freaky nocturnal avian lovin' on that I almost thought my cloaca had completely fused shut or something. Shit, had the taxidermist even left my cloaca intact? If my wings hadn't been pinned up in this ridiculous position, I could probably have reached a couple of wing feathers down there to give myself a once-over, but, as per usual, sucks to be Hedwig.

The truth of it was, there was something deep and brooding and irresistible about that table. I wanted to know its sexy secrets. I mean, I knew about the post traumatic stress from the vampire cock, and how he had suffered through it for over three years, first when Emmett and Rosalie had shared this table, then Alice and Jasper, then finally Edward and Bella. I had never seen anything like it: that table was a vampire magnet, and the daily molestations would get anyone down. But even despite that, I thought there was some deeper, darker secret the table was hiding. Maybe if I could just get it drunk.

But then there's the age-old question: _How the fuck do you get a Russian drunk?_ Aren't they born with forty-proof blood? Maybe a foreign kind of alcohol would do the trick? Then maybe, just maybe, I could get some. I mean. Fall in love.

My dear Harry—he was a wanker, but, by Dumbledore's anal lube, he was _my_ wanker—had taught me a couple of spells, despite it being against the Ministry of Magic Ordinance something-or-other for the Prevention of Magic by Fowl No Matter How Majestic Said Fowl Might Be (that may or may not have been the actual name of the ordinance—Merlin's wrinkly ball-sac, I was an owl, not some asshole wizard solicitor). Anyway, I was feeling lonely and melancholy so I accio'ed my favorite boozy treat. Owls weren't supposed to have people food, but Harry sure liked to see me flying under the influence when he'd drunk-owl Cho Chang.

"Hey," I said in the direction of the table. "Tired of the generic Pledge the custodial staff gives you? Want someone else to polish you for a change?" He just grunted. I wasn't sure if he even spoke English, and my Russian was pretty rusty. Actually all the Russian I knew was from watching _A Clockwork Orange_ with Harry when he was hopped up on crystal meth and wearing that gigantic Gryffindor lion codpiece. "_Horrorshow_?" I said. "_Groodies_?" Damnit, I remembered nothing. I just hooted a phrase or two from Beethoven's Ninth. I thought I heard the table creak and groan with something like desire.

When I magically popped the bottle of liquid courage open, the table perked up considerably, showcasing his woodliness. We passed the bottle back and forth, and then he seemed kind of hot, you know, with all those right angles and splinters and faint chemical aroma and those nicks on his underside from being thwacked daily by concrete, twitching vampire dick and also well-oiled from the Swan girl's effusive lady-spooge. He was even, gee, kind of beautiful. I did that thing where you lean in, blink rapidly (worked for that freaky Swan girl anyway), and then cough up the fur and bones of the rat you ate several hours prior. Yeah, I still had it. It was like riding a bicycle; I would never forget how to be seductive while regurgitating. _Yeah, I'm sexy ... you want a piece of this? Oh, yeah_. I glanced at his table-man-parts and gasped, silently, on the inside. _Gosh, his table member seems so huge_—_will it fit? I hope he doesn't rip my cloaca in two_.

**Raskolnikov Table POV:**  
_WTF, why am I all covered in feathers?_

I couldn't remember a thing. Except ... maybe the owl fell over last night when we were drinking ... butterbeer? Was that what she called it? I never should have trusted that feathered floozy's unnatural beverage. I vowed to stick only to liquors distilled from potatoes, the way the Good Lord intended. What was it that the redeeming whore used to tell me? "Blessed are the tubers," spaketh the Lord, "for they produce the clear sunshine that brings truth, bad choices, and vomiting." Something like that.

_I hope she's okay. Man, I wish I were closer to that hott little cherrywood lab table on the other side of the room. Yeah, I'd sure like to explore her knotholes. __I bet she'd even open up her rear drawer for me, if you know what I'm saying._

I shook my tabletop clear, trying to stop seeing double. Behind my creepy reincarnated-axe-murderer eyelids embedded on the side of the table, I could have sworn I saw this nerdy kid with glasses on a tiny broom, or two of them, rather, and before I knew it, I was spewing wood pulp all over the classroom floor. I was quite sure I saw one tiny feather in the wood pulp, so fine and tiny that it must have come from the cloaca of some bird. What in the what now? Oh, my splitting tabletop.

_Butterbeer. Never again.  
_

**

* * *

Chilly Barley POV:**  
It was humiliating. They called my mom, and she came rumbling over in that shitty station wagon with the wood paneling. Like, just because we were Native Russet-American didn't mean we needed to have a car made of fucking wood, like, to commune with nature or whatever. Mom claimed it was genuine sequoia, but I had my doubts. When she got out of the car, Coach talked to her in a low voice, and I think he was checking out at least four, maybe five, of her six boobs. I couldn't hear him, but whatever he said made her face go white—I mean, pale russet. She pressed her lips so tightly together that they pretty much disappeared.

"Get in the car," she hissed, and I slid in, still goopy and lubed from all the stuff those boys had thrown at me.

I had to grab the dashboard to keep from getting a crotch full of gearshift.

**Gearshift POV:**  
_Holy shit! Those Quileute youngling balls almost hit me right in the face! Wait, no, I guess that was more my neck._

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
"Mama?" I timidly asked once we'd sped away from the school.

"Do not EVEN," she said, clutching the wheel tightly.

I stared out the window for a bit, but then I got the courage to ask, "Why didn't you tell me, Mama?"

"You brought the white man's SIN upon your JUNK. I prayed and danced in my hand-beaded moccasins from Cost Plus World Market that this curse would not come upon your penis. I shook my rainstick and communed with the deer in the woods, and still this happened."

"But I don't understand, Mama," I whimpered as she continued to speed down the road, never looking at me.

"When we get home, you are going into the sweat lodge, and you are going to smoke up a lot of peyote. And you will pray for your spirit guide to show your penis the way of the semi-soft cheesedick."

"I don't want to, Mama," I said, fiddling with my long, swingy hair, which I'd plaited into many manly braids. The lube and lotion and crap actually made my hair really glossy, like a thoroughbred's coat. I made a mental note to stock up on the stuff the next time I was at a Walgreens.

"Why don't you just give me some smallpox-infested blankets?" she spat.

"Don't ... don't say that, Mama."

"Then you'll head straight for the sweat lodge."

"It's not even a proper sweat lodge. It's just a pup tent with a vaporizer and a heat lamp," I muttered. "And the peyote is, I think, oregano."

"Chilly Barley Ephraim Joaquin Running Brook Clearwater!" Mama shrieked, and from the tone in her voice I knew to shut my yapper. Even though the oregano wasn't even fresh, but dried. And bought in bulk from Costco.

**

* * *

Unearned-Angst-Trigger-Happy-Tissue-Warning Author A/N: So OMG, you guys, you all should get your tissues out. *TISSUE WARNING* because really I cried just doubleclicking on the Microsoft Word icon. Even Clippy looked kind of choked up ****as he formatted my margins****. I typed through my tears until my cheeks burned from the salt. So GET YOUR TISSUES. I am SERIOUS.**

**Do you have your tissues? Are you sure? I mean, I'm not going to start until I'm sure all of you have your tissues. Okay.**

Chilly Barley sobbed and sobbed. **(OMG Do you have your tissues? I warned you! *TISSUE WARNING* HE'S, LIKE, CRYING! OMG I AM SNOT-SOBBING HERE.)** He was so ashamed of what had happened at school, and his mother seemed upset with him, and also when he got home he discovered his pet fish floating upside down in his bowl. **(*sobbing* I TOLD YOU.)**

"Ruh-renesmee?" he said to the little dead fish. **(OMG DID YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED THERE? HE NAMED HIS FISH AFTER RENESMEE! BECAUSE HE LOVES HER! AND THEN THE FISH DIED! OMG OMG WEEPING *TISSUE WARNING*)** He'd never admit it to anyone, but he had been in love with Renesmee Cullen since the day she'd tripped on the sidewalk in front of his house and dropped her ice cream cone. She was ... well it was hard to tell how old she was then, because she was a freaky human/vampire hybrid, but Chilly was about four, so she must have been around that age too, but with better teeth. She'd been wearing a Janie & Jack sailor-dress with a matching knit cardigan with little nautical anchors on it. **(check my polyvore for outfits!1!)**She cried and cried and cried **(OMG I CAN'T STOP CRYING, CAN YOU?)**, and Chilly came out with an Eskimo Pie, and she'd said, "The proper term is _Inuit Pie_." He just loved her, but she never really looked at him even though they lived next door to each other.

Sometimes he watched her from the kitchen window as he helped his mom make dinner, and he'd chop onions and feel his eyes burn as tiny amounts of propanethiol S-oxide, which, coupled with the enzymes in the onion, emitted a passive sulfur compound. This passive sulfur compound, when mixed with the saline in his eyes, formed sulfuric acid. Tears would then seep uncontrollably from his eyes. **(I AM OUT OF TISSUES. HE IS IN SO MUCH PAIN! *TISSUE WARNING*!)**

**

* * *

Silver Volvo POV:**  
I wasn't even part of the story anymore, completely irrelevant in the sequel. I was alone, alone, alone. Even Rearview Mirror told me he wasn't any good for me. He said there was no point, so he was going to leave. He said, and I quote, "It will be as if I never existed." The next morning, when I woke up, he was gone.

**Rearview Mirror POV:**  
It was time to get the hell out of Dodge—I mean, Volvo.

**Silver Volvo POV:  
**[slow circling camera, watching trick-or-treaters]  
_*Sigh*  
_  
[slow circling camera, watching the neighbors' grandkids arriving with Thanksgiving food fixins.]  
_*Existential angst*  
_  
[slow circling camera, watching snow and various non-denominational winter holiday celebrations]  
_*Wondering why any of these silly consumerist holidays even matter when Rearview Mirror has left me, woe, woe, woe*_

Eventually I started drag racing, running red lights, refusing to yield when waiting to enter a traffic circle, not even bothering to wipe the bird shit off my windshield. A few times I drank regular instead of super plus gasoline, and I even applied an ill-chosen bumper sticker to my rear. I was hoping against hope that the thrill and danger from my irresponsible living would bring back Rearview's silent, seething disapproval.

But nothing worked.

Then one day I saw an old episode of "Knight Rider" where this evil car went flying off a cliff to his death, yelling, "Noooooooo!" I felt a rush of hope where previously there had been a vacuum of despair, not to be confused with the cheeseburger of pain that festered beneath my driver's seat.

Cliff-diving? Could I do it? Would Rearview Mirror care? If I died, would he come to my funeral?

**Rearview Mirror POV:  
**So, Air Freshener texted me to let me know Silver Volvo had finally done it, that he had purposely plummeted off the edge of a cliff to his death. The last thing Air Freshener had heard was that Silver Volvo was on the way to the trash heap.

"Huh," I said, returning to my daiquiri while a hot girl in a bikini rubbed me down with Windex.

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV: I have to say, I like where this is going. **__**The paneled-wood Americana station wagon gave it a faux bois idealism, and it's just stunning. Congratulations. I urge you to develop this further.**_

**

* * *

Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer POV:  
A/N: Step aside. This story is seriously lacking in deep, dark darkness like the darkness of my soul and my black eyeliner and nails and Manic Panic and my lip ring OMG you poseurs. Let me show you how a professional works. BEHOLD THE DARKETY.  
**  
So then Edward found an innocent kitten with wide blue eyes hiding under the shrubbery he had clipped into a giant "666." He roared, laughing at the sad little kitten's attempts to hide her trembling little body. He picked up the kitten, which had an adorable little red bow around her neck, and tore into the tender flesh under the soft, soft fur. The kitten squealed, making a sound like a dying cat, except more miserable and dark, as Edward's vicious teeth ripped through the fur and the skin and the tendons and the muscles until the warm blood gushed into his mouth. He didn't wear a napkin around his neck or on his lap because he was badass and not a fucking napkin-using pussy. He wasn't afraid to get blood all over his tightly fitting sleeveless mesh shirt he had purchased from the International Male catalog. After he'd emptied the kitten of her life's blood, he tossed the carcass over his shoulder. The carcass made a dull thwacking sound as it hit a tree behind him, darkly.

He heard a whimper that sounded like a wee innocent kitten, but instead he found a beautiful girl with golden ringlets. "Have you seen my kitten, Mister?" she asked with wide blue eyes, that were even wider and bluer than the kitten's.

Edward sneered, threw his head back, and laughed cruelly. "I ate her face," he said, even though that wasn't technically what he'd done.

The little girl's face fell, and her eyes grew watery. "Mister, my dead parents gave me that kitten. It was the last thing they gave me before they died. I'm an orphan. Now I am all alone." She coughed pathetically a few times and added by way of apology, "I have tuberculosis."

Edward felt a strange draw toward this girl. He felt like he should protect her, but then he pushed that human-like impulse down, down, back into the churning bile and vampire blackness in his blackety black dark evil liquid-hot magma core. But he was cold, cold as ice, because he was Vampyre. He watched the little girl's lip tremble, and he put one cold finger against her lips. "Hush," he said in a soothing voice, and she relaxed a little, feeling safe.

"You're with me now," he said, smiling, but his eyes were dead and darkety dark like evil!

The girl shook her curls adorably, slipping her small hand into his, completely trusting.

Then Edward went all RAWR and DARK and CHOMP and ripped her head off, putting it on the end of his walking stick. He carried a walking stick only because it instilled fear when he impaled the heads of his most recent victims on it. The girl's glassy eyes stared back at him, but he was too busy slurping the fountain of blood coming out of the slender neck of the girl. He made animal sounds while he devoured her, sucking the marrow from her wee tiny innocent baby bones.

"What are you doing?" came a small, frightened, delicious-sounding voice. Edward had an immediate erection that actually ripped through his skinny-fit black jeans and black-on-black boxer-briefs **(A/N: POLYVORE ON MY PROFILE!)**. No fabric could contain the dark serpent of his desire. _She_ was here, the one he had been stalking like the PREDATOR he was, the dark, evil, erection-bursting-from-his-jeans PREDATOR. He didn't need to say her name OUT LOUD, because it sang inside his head constantly, and he silently mouthed it, pursing his lips and touching the tip of his blood-coated tongue against his impossibly hard alveolar ridge again and again and again. _Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella_.

"It is but my nature," he purred, drawing a rakish little mustache on his face with the neck blood of the little girl. He could see all of _her_ pulsepoints, throbbing at the same rate as the Darkest Serpent of Desire. In his pants. I mean, recently exploded from his pants. They both throbbed to the tune of that Nightwish song everybody who is dark loves. Denim was no match for his aching, vampire cock. Nothing could contain his darkest, uncircumcised serpent, except perhaps some garment made from the skin of a fellow vampire. But that is some Jeffrey Dahmer shit, and even Edward found that a bit distasteful. In addition, he liked feeling his pants-python rip through the threads of feeble man-made clothing, the way it had torn through so many virgins' hymens, with only a whisper like the tearing of silk as he thrust into them as they screamed for more, screamed until he bit their necks, sucking them dry and engorging like a tick. A dead sexy, pale, _dangerous_ tick. DO NOT FUCK WITH THE DANGEROUS, ENGORGED TICK!  
**  
Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer A/N: Isn't he so fucking hot? I KNOW! BUT HE IS 100% MY INTELLECTUAL AND SPANK BANK PROPERTY SO HANDS OFF. I HAVE SAFETY PINS IN MY EARLOBES INSTEAD OF EARRINGS. YEAH BECAUSE I'M HARDCORE LIKE THAT.**

**Yoda POV: Think the Dark Side you know, do you? **

**Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer A/N: Excuse me, tiny green man, my adoring public is hanging onto every dark, tantalizing word here. [*sniffs indignantly and continues to type furiously*]**  
He didn't know if he wanted to eat her or fuck her. So he kind of did both. First he kissed her, and battled for dominance with her wiggling, silky-soft tongue, pink like a Georgia peach on the first day of harvest. The battle went on for what felt like hours, or years. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding; he could tell from her ragged gasping through her nostrils. Then, suddenly, without warning, he bit into her, tearing off large chunks of flesh while his teeth tried to find Louisiana Purchase. Once the hole was big enough, he thrust his dark serpent of desire repeatedly into the jagged neck wound, now slick with her sweet, sweet blood. Then he kissed her urgently while he penetrated her neck hole, his penis performing a tracheotomy, violating her virgin neck. As the life flowed from her and her spirit escaped into the air around them, she whispered, "I love you, Edward," with her last wet, rattling breath.  
**  
Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer A/N: And that's how it's done, POSEURS. Excuse me, I am late for my tattoo appointment. I'm getting a bleeding skull tattooed on my shaved pussy. It's already raw and angry. Also I am out of Lean Pockets.**

**Yoda POV: Shady aisle of Hot Topic ****the only dark side you know is****, mmmmm.**

**Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer A/N: Well if that's true, why do I have over ten thousand reviews? Ten THOUSAND reviews! How many reviews do **_**you**_** have? Can you even type with those three prehensile claws? [*secretly butthurt*]**

**Yoda POV: Fandom you think you have? Hoho, huhuhmmm. Butthurt think you are, mmmm? The force I will use on your butt and then hurt your butt will know...**

**Uber-Goth-Wannabe Hack Writer A/N: With what? That teeny weenie peenie? You're only, like, two feet tall, so I can't imagine your wee green troll-rod can be bigger than my pinkie, unless you're, like, hiding a kickstand under there. Which I highly doubt. DON'T MESS WITH ME I AM WICCAN SORT OF WELL I HAVE HENNA****, URBAN DECAY LIPSTICK,**** AND A SMUDGE STICK AND ALSO I AM OUT OF LEAN POCKETS. DON'T TEST ME, LITTLE MAN.**

**Random Onlooker POV: MORTAL KOMBAT!**

**Mortal Kombat Soundtrack POV: DEENCHA DEENCHA DEENCHA-DA DEENCHA, DEENCHA DEENCHA DEENCHA-DA DEENCHA, DEENCHA DEENCHA DEENCHA-DA DEENCHA, DEE DEE DEE DOO DA, **_**MOOOOORTAL KOOOOOOOOOMBAT!**_

**Yoda POV: Less convincing you sound than Darth Maul, before sucking my surprisingly thick green member he did. When the dark side you embrace, the jizz I will force.**

**Random onlooker POV: [*coughs*] Um, Mortal Kombat?**

**Darth Maul POV: OMG I SO did NOT give Yoda a beej. [aside to Yoda] **_**You promised that was between us! I'm giving you back your Jedi fraternity pin. **_**And, not that you care, but you made me mouth-pregnant! [running off sobbing] **  
**  
Unearned-Angst-Trigger-Happy-Tissue-Warning Author A/N: SEE I TOLD YOU THAT YOU'D NEED TISSUES! BUT DID YOU LISTEN? NOOOOOOO. NEXT TIME BRING THE TISSUES! OMG *TISSUE WARNING***

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV: Is there a plot here? I'm concerned. What's going on with Chilly Barley? Doesn't he have a prom to go to? Proms need outfits, people. Let's get to work.

* * *

**_

**Chilly Barley POV:**_  
Are you there, Skywolf? It's me, Chilly. I'm so confused, Great Skywolf. I got a boner, but I haven't fursploded yet. What does this mean? Am I a man? A wolf? A wolf-man__ (Jack)__? Will Renesmee like me more if I fursplode? She's always liked it when Dad does it. She's always clapping and whistling and rubbing his fur, like all over and under his belly, especially the thicker, wiry fur toward his hind legs. Then she rides off __on him bareback__. Used to be he'd take both of us, but then she got bigger faster, and he said we didn't both fit on his back. I sure would like her to ride _me_ like that someday._

I got another boner, just thinking about Renesmee. The great Skywolf had told me to get rid of my boners by using some of the lotion I had collected from the littering palefaces (with one tear streaking down my face at the desecration of the pristine locker-room showers).

Could it be that those guys were actually trying to help me? Would lotion actually help me? What should I do?

_Rub one out! Rub one out! _Their taunts rang in my head. I observed my russet member and considered, my head cocked to one side, my cock cocked to the other.

I put some lotion on my boner and stared at it. It stared back at me, as if to say, "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:  
**You have no idea what you're doing, do you?

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
"Great Skywolf," I said, "please guide me. Help me heal this horrible affliction. Please don't let any harm come to my wolf-dick. It's nice for peeing outside, and for writing my name in the snow."

I closed my eyes, praying for guidance, and suddenly I saw him in my mind's eye: The Great Skywolf, and he wasn't alone. A tiny green man with pointy ears wearing a stylish linen Japanese keikogi was riding on his back.

"Since fursploded you have not," the green man said in a weird little voice, "interpret for you, Yoda must."

"Barooo!" howled the Great Skywolf.

"Out one rub," the little man named Yoda said. "Use the Force," he added as an afterthought, twisting his three-clawed hands in opposite directions as if to give the celebrated burn of my people.

So I started rubbing the lotion into my boner, and it felt _weird. _Like kind of scary and weird, but really intense too, and I felt like I had to rub some more in. So I put some lotion in my hand and tried to get it all over the boner. It made me think of Renesmee for some reason, but when I closed my eyes, the little green dude was staring at me, all relentless and bug-eyed.

"Yes... yes! Veeeerrrry gooooooood, young Clearwater," he said, with a weird chuckle. "Afraid do not be to use the Force! It is strong with this one! Stay on your penis will."

It was kind of freaky, but reassuring, too. So I rubbed and rubbed, putting my whole hand around it and making sure the lotion got all over my stiff russet shaft. I thought of Renesmee riding the Great Skywolf, and my boner started twitching. I hoped it wasn't epileptic. Unfortunately Yoda was also in my head, I mean my head-head, not my penis-head, although maybe he was there, too. Anyway, in my mind, as Yoda watched me watching Imaginary Renesmee ride the Great Sky Wolf, her shirt disappeared, showing her glorious ...

"Paleboobies!" Yoda cried, motorboating. "Pppaaaalllebbbbooobbbbies."

This was too much for me, and then everything went crazy! At first I thought I was fursploding, except no hair came out of my skin (except a little on my palms), but one thing did kind of explode. At first I thought it was just some lotion, but it was coming ... OUT OF MY BONER like a FIREHOSE. Did the lotion somehow get sucked into me? Was I producing it? Is this what all lotion was made of? Is that why Dad's L'Occitane products were so expensive? Was I going to die? Was my penis vomiting? I tried to hold back my penis-hair so it wouldn't get penis-vomit in it, but everything was all slippery and strange and smelled kind of funny, not at all like the vanilla and patchouli smell from the lotion of the White Man.

"Very good!" said Yoda, as the Great Skywolf howled. "It right you did."

They turned to leave, but I yelled after them to stop.

"Wait!" I cried. "How should I ask Renesmee to the prom?"

"You just did," said Yoda. "Behind you look."

I whipped my head around, and Renesmee was standing at the entrance of the so-called sweat lodge, sucking on a lollipop and staring at me over her heart-shaped sunglasses.

"Hey, Chilly," she said in a sultry voice. "I'd ask what's up, but I guess we both know the answer to that."

She nodded at my boner, which was still there for some reason, just not as scary.

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:**  
_Lllllllllllllllllllllladies_. I mean, _llllllllllllllllllllady_. I mean, _crrrrrrrreepy_ _vampire/human hybrid llllllllllllady-person_.

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
"Oh no!" I yelped, grabbing a towel to cover my semi-erect shame. "I didn't mean for you to see that!"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," she shrugged. "You look so much like your dad!"

_Huh. That's random. I guess we do have the same eyes._

"So, I guess you heard that last part, about prom, right?"

"Uh-huh." She licked the lollipop slowly and said something else, but I swear I couldn't understand a word of it. I just kept watching her tongue find purchase on the sweet candy, battling the sugary disc for dominance, darting about like a pink, fluttering butterfly.

Then she smirked at my towel and sauntered away, leaving me trying to figure out what just happened, besides my towel making its own teepee.

"She said _uh-huh,_" I said to Skywolf and Yoda. "That means she's my date, right?"

"Sure, kid," Yoda said, peering over the great wolf's back at my teepee. "Another one rub out you must, young Clearwater."

Man, this guy was strict.

**

* * *

His Holy Sparklepeen POV:  
**Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my penis man-purse, and nothing particular to interest me on the bodies of mere mortals, I thought I would sail about a little and see the dark, immortal part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the sparklespleen, and regulating the circulation to my penile self. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the shaft; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my urethra; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before glory holes, and bringing up the rear [yeah, I said _rear_] of every circle-jerk I meet; and especially whenever my engorgings get such an upper hand [technically, Rosy Palm and her Five Sisters, if you know what I'm saying] of me, that it requires a strong moral assbead—I mean, um, _principle—_to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the sparkling sunlight outside the Y-flap in my Master's tightie-whities at high noon while the Volturi are watching, and uncontrollably twitching and smacking the undersides of lab tables—then, I account it high time to get away from sea-men as soon as I can. This is my substitute for cock and balls. With a philosophical flourish Kato Kaelin throws himself upon the firepoker in his freeloading ass's borrowed guest house; I quietly take to the poon. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the poon with me.

**Ghost of Melville POV: What in God's name is going on here? Who authorized this? What the Jesus fuckity?**

**His Holy Sparklepeen Whom We Shall Call Ishmael POV: Dude, be cool.**

**Ghost of Melville POV: "Be cool"? I'm dead! I'm frigid! And what is this horrible bastardization of my work? I WROTE THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL, YOU FUCKS! I WROTE IT!**

**His Holy Sparklepeen Whom We Shall Call Ishmael POV: Yeah, but what did you expect with a title like **_**Moby-Dick**_**? And he's a sperm whale, right? Besides, you're in good company. This Sparklepeen honors the works of Rowling, King, and Meyer!**

**Ghost of Freud POV: [*Kichern, Kichern*] Heh heh, **_**Moby-Dick**_**. Das ist offensichtlich für den Pimmel gehalten werden.**

**Helpful Babelfish POV: [*giggle, giggle*] Heh heh, **_**Moby-Dick**_**. That is for the cock to be kept obvious.**

**Ghost of Freud POV: Das war **_**nicht**_**, was ich gesagt habe. [*der Flouncer*]  
**_**  
**_**Ghost of Melville POV: I would like a word with my solicitor!**

**His Holy Sparklepeen Whom We Shall Call Ishmael POV: [continuing as if he hasn't at all been interrupted] ... Elders, Dostoyevsky, Carebears! **

**Ghost of Ghost of Melville's Solicitor POV: [*hushed legal mumbo-jumbo*]**

**Ghost of Melville POV: Public domain? Well, fuck me. [*flounces in a puff of chagrin*]**

**His Holy Sparklepeen Whom We Shall Call Ishmael POV:**  
Now I had been a-wandering far from home, seeking not the poon but rather the tangy ass parts of various vampires, especially when writ by immature adolescents. After a while, I tired of ass after ass after ass, even if Master always enjoyed some rear action. It was time to return to the tropical, exotic heat of the poon. I had a secret, though, and as much as I wished for the rest of the world not to know, my safety was now too much of an issue. I slipped the metal band about my waist, shimmying it all the way down to my base, a trifle embarrassed but mostly relieved.

Master freed me from my confines, wriggling out of his dark-wash Seven for All Mankind jeans and gently peeling off his charcoal Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. I was immediately standing at attention. The Master needed me.

"Ooh," I heard Bella say, breathing heavily, her satin and lace Agent Provocateur bustier heaving and shaking. "What's this?" She fingered the circle of silver at my base. "Naughty, Edward. A cock ring?"

Master glanced down at me. "Huh?" he said, puzzled. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn't examine too closely. "Never mind," he said, shaking his head. "Let's get busy." He flipped on the strobe light, and I soon lost control, twitching and spasming in the erratic light.

"Oh my," Bella said, quivering in her thigh-high 10-denier hosiery and 4.5-inch Christian Louboutins. "_Somebody_'s excited to see me."

"Oh yes," Master said, trying to hold me still but jiggling around from the force of my shaking, his voice as distorted as if he were speaking while working a jackhammer. After a while he gave up, walking to the sound system on the other side of the room. He turned on the old Victrola, and _that _voice came warbling out, that cursed, bewitching voice. My twitching had calmed somewhat, but when I heard _her_ voice, I lost all control, shaking and vibrating like Master's shopaholic pixie Tinkerbell sister when she saw in a vision that La Perla would soon be having a sale. Why did they think "The Best of 'Entertainment Tonight': The John Tesh and Mary Hart Years" was booty music? Why did the voice of _la mia cantante_ put them in the mood? I tried not to swallow my tongue, and then I wondered if I actually had a tongue to swallow. And then I was unaware of anything but the spasms.

When I came to, Bella's tiny teaspoon hands were wrapped around me, trying to tame me enough to slip inside her wet velvet Hot Pocket crisping sleeve.

"Mmmm," hummed Bella with pleasure, her undercarriage glistening with desire.

**Bella's Clit POV:**  
I figured since I was spending so much time peeping out of crotchless panties from Frederick's of Hollywood and bumping heads with the sparklepeen, that I should at least introduce myself. "The name's Bud," I said, peeping out coyly from underneath my hood. "Billy Bud."

**Ghost of Melville POV: NO NO NO NO NO! WHAT? WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU? [*rocks back and forth, pulling large chunks of shaggy, old-man beard from his chin*]**

**His Holy Sparklepeen Whom We Shall Call Ishmael POV:**  
I had no idea why the clit was introducing herself, especially when I was clearly in the middle of a medical emergency. "G-g-good to meet you," I tried to answer. Then Master's hand went to my base to help out his precious Bella.

"What the fuck IS this?" he asked, his hand around the band of silver. _Crap_.

He eased off the band and looked it over. "MedicAlert bracelet? Did you do this, Bella? Is this your idea of a joke? A novelty cock ring? Medical conditions are nothing to mock, love." He tossed the silver band over to her. "I'd urge you to be more sensitive to the plight of humans. After all, you used to be one yourself."

Bella turned the ring around in her hand. "Epilepsy? Why would I mock epilepsy?"

I blushed in shame, but then the strobe light got to me again, and I had another seizure.

**Ghost of Melville POV: A penis. A penis with epilepsy. This is what my greatest **_**oeuvre**_** has been reduced to. Fucking SPLENDID. *THE GREAT AMERICAN FLOUNCE***

**

* * *

Thirteen-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash A/N:**  
**So I bet you guise thought I was gone or something because last time there was a twelve year old butt now see I had a birthday so I am a teenager and I get my ministrations like a lady. ****My other account says I died but thats bc my english teacher found my account and threttened to tell my mom so i had to take drastic meshures.**** I men, that was my twin sister. She is dead like realy. I jus have all her passwords an stuff becasue we were twins an twins know everything like in that movie wiht Lindsay Lohan as taht stripper an the missing hand an that freaky cereal killer an shit so dont you be hating.**

**And I no sum people who are around my age have like good grammer and stuff but come on not all of us are Doggie Howser. Some of us are that guy who was his dum friend who ended up being one of those guys in Lion King who I am pretty sure were gay. That reminds me I am starting a new storie can you red and tell me what you think:**

**Thirteen-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash's new story:**  
So them Timon told Poomba, Dud you mack me so hot when you roll around in the muck I just want to stick my cook up you're butte long and hard until you cry out from how good I make you fell.

Poomba laughed, Like you're tiny little muskrat weenur wood come at all close too satisfying me and my butt. Like have you seen a warthogs cook? It is huge and veiny. And I have had like seventeen in me at one time because gay warthogs are really slutty I mean whatever you call gay warthogs that have alot of buttsecks with alot of other warthogs at one time. I mean my butte can strech out long and wide like as big as a football field you could totally play the Superbowl here. And then he farted the Superbowl theme song out of his giant buttehole to demonstate.

One single gay precum tear rolled out of Timons eye, finding purchase on his shirt which he had found purchase at the Kenya-Mart, an he turn away from Poomba before he can see it.

**Thirteen-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash A/N: I no I am so sorry it looks like they wont have buttsecks yet this is because of something I red about ****in goth Twiligt FF ****called angst. I here it makes people lick you're stories moore and makes blue balls or something that is why they are not having cooked butt anytime soon butt dont worry their will be lot's of cooked butts soon but when you don't expect it SPOILER it is in three chapters after Timon see's the which doctor to englarge his pen****u****s untill it looks like a elephant tusk all pointy lick that and than Poomba totally butt bleeds because Timon's pens is so big and pointy on teh end and animal's dont have loob or something. See I learned alot when I turned thirteen about l****u****b and angst I am going to have like a million revues and be famus and then Ms. Carson can suck it for telling the school ****counsler**** about my story's and then tell my parent's that she think I need some kind of help because I like to think about alot of pen's and cook's in peoples butte's at one time I mean theres nothing wrong with that it is fine ****liturature**** and also I bleed out of my vagina now so I no things ****anywho**** what I was saying is that dont worry becasue there will be so much butt loving later in this story but this is the angst part. Oh and also Poomba is secretly all hurt inside, like butthurt and regular hurt and also hurt in his butt, from his last seven gay boyfriends ****with**** who he was doing it with at the same time with like. They were suppose to throw him a suprise party he new a bout but said he didnt but them they got smushed by a wildebest stampeed on the way to the Chuck E. Cheeses. ****This is based on a IRL expeerience I had, OK?**** So he feel all guilty an is a fraid to let anyone new love him up the butte. I think this is what they call hurt/confront. So I am riting about agnest/hurt/confront because I am growing as a rider because I am a teenager now. Also sum of you sed that my riding was kind of shitty an to be honest that kind of hurt my fellings but because I am tryng to be mature about stuff now that I am a teenager I got a beta so may be you guise can get off my back. You really shoed, because I am a teenager.**

**Also I get my periods. If you have ministrations your a woman, legully.**

**Oh sorry I shooed get back to the story, rite.**

_**TIM GUNN, CELEBRITY BETA POV: Ficwriters, I have to tell you**__**: I'm troubled**__**. I've held my tongue for a while because frankly, I was just dazzled by the choice you made with the Russian table covered in feathers, and I even enjoyed the Hot Topic/Yoda youth-meets-retro fusion **__**and kicky 1960s-throwback lingerie**__**, but I think this is going in the wrong direction now. I just want you to think about this for a moment. I like the hurt/**__**confrontation**__** possibility. I think you need to pursue that. It's edgy. **_

_**Carry on.**_

**Thirteen-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash and now hurt/confront POV****:**  
So Bella and Edward where going to have sex because that is what vampires like to do when they are a lone or even in front of other people just sex sex sex all the time and they can go forever because they never have to sleep. Sumtimes Jasper come over their because he always want's Edward's cook all throbbing and stuff cumming out of the tip gooey like. But he was out at the gay vampire's's's bar over in Port Angeles (you have to use Port Angels in your story because it is cannon that people go there and I lick to be acurate because I take alot of pride in my riding). So it was just Bella and Edward. Edward sighed because Bella didn't have a pens, which mean he wouldn't get any action in the butt.

Bella was like, why did you sigh just now? I'm naked accept for my stilleto heals and reddy for you're hot throbbing giant trunk of a dicke and wet all oven. What you don't think I'm sexy anymore because I had a babby.

No its not that" Edward said while stroking his pail cook. Could he tell her the truth? Wood she still let him stick his huge dong all over and in every whole?

Bella was all like why you all like a marble statute (**A/N: I am pretty sure this is cannon too all the marble ****and sparkles like toy marbles I have. And**** hes always hard because he want's the sex all the time**) an shit? Just stick it in okay because that is how we have the sexy, you stick your pens in my wet slit and in and out a bunch of times and then we cum at the same time butt only when you order me to and you say cum for me baby NOW and that make's me all wet and squeezy.

Edward trying to get up the courage to ass her if she woud maybe stick a finger up his butte but he shy all of a sudden. And he thinks like man if I cant ask her to do that she will never let me stick my throbbing pens in her butthole.

Edward's kind of Hungary so his stomache was making sounds almost like it was talking to bella in sum secret lagnuage.

Oh em gee did you just say Tanya to me. Bella ask with horror.

Edward think oh shit now she nos all my secrets an I cant kill her because she is a vampire now lick me an I need her hidey-hole all wet and reddy for me an I dont think when I pull her a part an make her all on fire I can stick my cook all in that hot ash because I bet that burns an is sticky in the bad way.

Before he know's what bella does she has her hand's in his vampire pant's he left on teh floor from Armani X-change an finds purchase on a peace of paper with Edward hearts Tanya riding on it. She start to scream and cry except I dun think vampire's can cry see I know my cannon so she just has like hot eyes with venom. I new it!" she yell's and hit's him rite in the ball's. They made a tinkly sound like windchimes, one ball hitting the other ball. You bin cheating on me with this junkie ho name Tanya. That why you're pens dont want to cum play in my hidey-whole." Bella yelled.

_**Tim Gunn, Beta: Ficwriters, this is unadvisable. It's just a furtherance of the slouchification of America, and I just hate it. Change it.**_

**Thirteen-year-old FF author specializing in poly/slash:  
Okay Mr. Gunn, if that is you're real name. I am tryying very hard to write good an listen to you're criticisems, but you are getting on my nerve's now. I am the author, not you. You are the feta reeder. If your so smart than why are you reeding and not riding? Somone else can finnish this if they want to. [*flounces*]**

**

* * *

INTERMISSION AS WE SEEK A NEW AUTHOR TO COMPLETE THIS HOT MESS: A STEAMY ****DOM****/****sub**** STORY**

The sub was lying just how her Dom liked it, fully splayed, her meat curtains awaiting his scrutiny. If her odor wasn't just as he'd specified, she would be punished. She thrilled inside at the prospect, not knowing which she'd prefer—his approval or his hot, angry punishment for disobedience.

She could hear her Dom approaching the kitchen, where he had left her and told her not to move until he returned. It seemed like hours she had waited, but she knew better than to complain.

She could tell he had entered and was examining her. Although she was blindfolded, she knew he was wearing that dapper beret, as he always did when he was going to spend time examining her every crevice and cleft.

"Mmm," her Dom hummed. "You smell delectable, my sub. You are pristine, mouth-watering. You've done well. You have obeyed me." He touched a finger to her tender, rare bits. "Fresh," he said. She could hear her Dom suck on his finger. "You taste amazing. But you aren't quite ready yet."

She twitched in excitement and anticipation as he put instrument after instrument on the table next to her. What would it be this time? He squeezed a bottle of something—some massage oil? honey?—leaving a cool trail on her buns.

"Yes, that will do nicely," her Dom murmured to himself. He lapped up some of the excess as it dripped out of her side, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out in pleasure at the feel of his rough beard grazing against her. Right when she thought she might explode from keeping everything in, he stepped away so suddenly, quietly, that she wondered if he'd ever really been there in the first place.

_Oh please, please let him eat me today, _she prayed. _Maybe after a good spanking._ She could just _feel_ his hands on her, squeezing and squeezing right at the edge between pleasure and pain.

She could hear the sound of steel on steel as he rummaged inside a drawer. So, it would be edge play today? They'd never gone this far before, but she trusted him. She lay still,even as he kept squirting various things on her; she felt she would burst from all the attention. She was oozing now with desire, cold and hot at the same time, no part of her not dripping wet.

She felt the cool edge of the knife along her skin, and then pressure, more pressure than she was expecting. She stifled a scream, so he kept bearing down until she felt she were being cleaved in two.

"Didn't make a sound, good girl," her Dom said, and she would have smiled if she had been allowed to.

He wrapped his thick, meaty hands around her and lifted her up, bringing her sensitive parts to his lips. She could feel his whole warm mouth around her, and she quivered as she felt his teeth rake across her. It was so good. So, so good.

"Exquisite," her Dom said, rolling his tongue around and around his mouth with her sensitive bits still in it.

_Oh god, oh god, yes! _She cheated and peeped behind her blindfold. She could see her juices glistening in his beard, and traces of her stuck in between his teeth.

Suddenly he spat out in a burst of anger, slamming his fist into the table and rattling her where she lay. "Pickles? Pickles? I clearly stated NO PICKLES."

She bit her lip. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Pickles? Had she forgotten? She no longer felt secure with her Dom, having never seen him this angry ever. What was the safeword? Oh, Christ, she'd forgotten the safeword.

She lay on her side, silent and tense, worrying what would come. Then she heard his fat fingers punching numbers on the phone. "Antonio's? You destroyed my order! I clearly said no pickles! Do you know who you're talking to? This is Dom fucking DeLuise, and I poop bigger than your restaurant! I'm going to go over there right now and pinch out a giant loaf on one of your foot-long hoagie rolls! See how YOU like it!"

Just then, the sub remembered the safeword: _turd-rocket_.

**

* * *

Unearned-Angst-Trigger-Happy-Tissue-Warning Author A/N: Okay so I have been asked to finish this story—OMG I am so honored that snot is running out of my nose like a tap. I had to run to the store to find purchase with a box of tissues, since I ran out because OMG I'm just bawling all over while I'm writing this! So, needless to say, *TISSUE WARNING*!**

**In case you forgot where we left off, Bella and Edward were about to have the relations, but then Bella found a note in his pocket that said "Edward Hearts Tanya." She feels betrayed and sad and OMG *TISSUE WARNING*:**

"She meant nothing to me. She was a horrible mistake of a lasagna, named Tanya," he said shamefully, his eyes full of venomy tears. "I don't even eat food, Bella! She was utterly meaningless! She was a curiosity, nothing more, the way you, as a human, might have had a collection of Hummel figurines. Plus her noodles were limp and her meat smelled faintly of leftover breakfast sausage and the anuses of the lowest class of Plebeian swine. You only smell like I imagine the most delicious bacon would taste."

"Did you write her a song, too?"

"Define _song_," hedged Edward.

"You know, when you play notes and/or sing stuff? That you made up? And look dreamily at me while the camera pans around your body in a circular fashion at a canted angle, but only on the bonus third DVD available exclusively at Target?"

"Well ..." Edward avoided eye contact. "There was a little ... um I may have written somethingIcallTanya'slullabye," he mumbled. **(Oh, snap! What do you think Bella is going to say? She has trust issues! OMG I'm not going to make it through this! My lower lip is all wibbly!)**

"Just. Sing. It," Bella said, grinding her teeth together. **(Oh no! I think Bella is very upset! I think she will reject Edward, and OMG TISSUES WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY TISSUES?)**

Filled with chagrin, yet still dazzling like the disco-ball vampire that he was, he took a deep breath and began to sing in a rich (because the Cullens are _loaded_, dudes) baritone, "_On top of old Tanya, all covered with cheese, I hid my spicy sausage, between her layers of limp noodles, which were a nice contrast to my cold and iron-like vampire man-rod ..._"

"Oh my god!" interrupted Bella. "It's bad enough that you fucked a lasagna. But that song doesn't even rhyme! You! You are a shitty poet _and_ a pastafucker." **(OMG I think Edward must be hurting so bad inside from these mean, nasty Bella comments!)**

**Ten Thousand Reviewers POV: OMG BELLA IS SO FUCKING SELFISH I MEAN EDWARD IS PERFECT HE IS THE PERFECT MAN AND I CAN'T BELIEVE SHE DOESN'T SEE IT AND BELLA SHOULD OMG DIE JUST DIE SHE DOESN'T DESERVE HIM HE IS SOOOO PERFECT SO WHAT IF HE HAD SEX WITH THAT HO TANYA I MEAN I BET IT WAS ALL HER FAULT LIKE SHE TOTALLY SEDUCED HIM OR GOT HIM DRUNK OR SOMETHING BECAUSE EDWARD WOULD NEVER CHEAT LIKE THAT OMG BELLA SHOULD BE MORE UNDERSTANDING EVEN IF STICKING HIS DICK IN THAT TANYA LASAGNA AND THEN FUCKING BELLA GAVE HER A VAMPIRE YEAST INFECTION OMG BELLA SUCK'S UPDATE SOON UPDATE SOON UPDATE SON! **

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta: I think this would be an opportune moment to liken Edward's voice to some sort of fabric choice. **_

**Unearned-Angst-Trigger-Happy-Tissue-Warning Author POV:**  
"No, Bella, it wasn't like that, I swear!" Edward cried in dulcet Velveeta tones, with a fine herringbone pattern and Alençon lace edging. His inhuman vampire-topaz-butterscotch eyes were filled with pain and longing and chagrin. Alot of chagrin.

Edward tried to grab Bella's arm, but she jerked it away in such a manner that he somehow knew, even without the ability to read her mind, that she'd never jerk and squeeze on his hot Italian sausage again. His crotchmeat twitched mournfully and began singing spirituals, as it often did in times of trouble. Why, was that a viscous tear slowly oozing out of its sad, glossy, circumcised tip? **(WEEPING! Even his penis is sad now! OMG! I can't see the keyboard anymore because of my tears so I am having trouble tpying wihh my tearyy etes oh *TISSUE WARNINGSSSS* ALSO CHECK MY POLYVORE FOR OUTFITS!)**

"I was going to give you my virginity, you pastafucker!" Bella sobbed. "At least, the back half of it!" she wailed, running awkwardly out of the room, with her hands clamped firmly over her maiden crack, as if to shield its single, chocolatey-brown virgin eye from Edward's Italianate casserole treachery.

"I was going to give you that too! I still can!" Edward called after her weakly. "You know, in case you wanted to put something up my butt, if that in any way interests you. You could ..."

But she was already far away. As she ran down the hallway, she could have sworn she heard someone—or something—singing, quite muted, but silkily, and maybe muffled by grey cotton boxer-briefs and accompanied by the most mournful beatboxing by a velvet-like vampire voice, "Nobody Knows De Trouble I've Seen."

**Unearned-Angst-Trigger-Happy-Tissue-Warning Author A/N: OMG I have to stop writing because now I need to see my grief counselor because OMG OMG OMG WEEPING TISSUES SOB SOB SOB WAH *TISSUE WARNING* OH NO I'M OUT OF TISSUES AGAIN! I THINK MY BUTT IS CRYING TOO! OH WAIT THAT'S JUST DIARRHEA. DAMN CHIPOTLE.**

**

* * *

Tanya the Lasagna POV:**  
That douche didn't know that I was still in the fridge, cold, abandoned, pastafucked and pastatossed away, and I could hear every goddamned word. He thought the refrigerator door could buffer me from his insults, but had he forgotten I had super-sensitive vampire pasta hearing? It wasn't _my _fault that I was a hideously constructed yet lovelier-than-all-the-stars lasagna with corkscrew curls made of strawberries. I mean, who does that? And why does a certain SM always want to combine strawberries and hair in some form or fashion? It was weird. One would think that maybe she had some sort of odd strawberry fetish, or Suave fetish, or an extremely poor memory of the crap descriptions she'd already used.

One of the above. Take your pick.

But what did I know? I was just a lasagna.

Here I was, unwanted, hated by an entire fandom, and for what? For being pretty and constantly rejected by that twatty virgin? I know I got to fuck him in almost every "Edward is a manwhore" fic, which was, frankly, _awesome_, but it was not my fault that I was perfect and gorgeous and leggy and ricotta-y and slutty and glutinous. It was not my fault that my noodles were limp and my meat smelled faintly of leftover breakfast sausage. Blame the person who cooked me. I wasn't naming any names, but I'd give you three guesses as to which "mommy dearest" vampire needed to get her meddling ass kicked.

I was just a lovesick baked entree with poorly chosen ingredients.

And mold.

And maybe a used condom made of semolina.

Okay, and that chasm from the time I let Julia Child fist me. But, OMG, it was just that one time!

I wish that Charlie could have eaten me. He always appreciated lasagna. And I bet his mustache would feel really good.

**Charlie's Mustache POV:**  
Man, if there's one thing I love, it's giving oral pleasure to delicious, succulent casseroles, and then washing it all down with some Vitamin R.

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta: You completely disregarded my advice. Frankly, I'm bewildered **__**and flabbergasted**__**. I'll never be able to face another lasagna or submarine sandwich without thinking of vagina dentata. On the plus side, I suppose that removes two dietary temptations from my life. On the balance, it's a plus. Carry on.**_

**

* * *

Chilly Barley POV:**  
When I got to Renesmee's house dressed and ready for the prom, all I heard were the totally embarrassing sounds of her parents having 1) sex, 2) bad sex, and 3) a huge fight. I was totally freaked out by hearing Mrs. Cullen say that she was planning on giving him part of her virginity. Did she have two girl-parts? Did that mean Renesmee did, too? Did everyone have two and I was missing one? Oh wait, I have seen other naked people in a book. Just one member. I sighed in relief.

Renesmee's grandfather, Cold Dr. Cullen, as the wolves call him, had given me a book, _My Lumpy Pants: I'm Normal_, after the boner incident in the shower, and Mom's old boyfriend Sam had told me an old Qualuude legend about the ancient ritual called the "circle jerk", a ritual he said they still perform today whenever the moon was full. Now that I had boners, I was supposed to cum too. He even said "cum" with a "u" like that instead of the normal way, but only as a verb, not a noun; it was so weird.

So I was really nervous, and didn't know what to do when the sex was all loud and stuff, but when they started fighting I figured it would be a good time to knock. So I did, and Mrs. Cullen came out all crying. She looked kind of hot, so I gave her a big hug. My netherpotato throbbed once.

"Oh, Chilly Barley!" she sobbed, rubbing her boobs on my shirt.

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:  
**_Llllllllllladies_.

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
Another boner. How embarrassing!

Fortunately I was wearing the jorts that Sam gave me when he heard about my boners. He said they would kind of hide and kind of accentuate them at the same time. I didn't know what he meant, but Renesmee's mom seemed to.

"Oh, Chilly Barley!" she said again, but this time it was all breathy, and her boobs got really pointy. They actually cut through the fabric of her shirt, her concrete nipples no match for her drapey rayon Chico's top. "You're wearing the traditional Quaalude jorts! Does this mean that you're a man now?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cullen," I said, gulping.

"Call me Bella," she laughed. "Mrs. Cullen is my mother-in-law's name."

I let out the breath I did not know I had not been holding for at least the past three minutes. My face was probably a shade of blue, or maybe purple because of my russety undertones. Then Cold Dr. Cullen's wife came to the door too, looking over my prom attire.

"Mrs. Cullen is _my_ mother-in-law's name, too," she purred, oggling me with her goldenscotchtacular orbs. All four of them. "Call me Esme. What an unusual prom outfit you have on, Chilly Barley. You're practically naked. Aren't you cold?"

"No, Ma'am," I said proudly. "All us wolves are 109 degrees. I combined the traditional Quillyewt jorts with the traditional bow tie and cumberbund. Renesmee said she was wearing a green dress, so I got green."

Bella and Esme looked at each other sadly.

"What, green wasn't right?" I asked, in a panic. "Is she wearing another color? Did she change her mind about the dress?"

"No, sweetie," Bella said. "She's still wearing green. But she changed her mind about her date. I thought she told you."

_WAIT ... WUT__?__ There goes my boner. __Such a confusing organ__, the penis._

"But, honey, why don't you come inside and let us take care of you?" Esme said, rubbing her matronly undead boobs on my arm.

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:  
**_Llllllllllllllladies_.

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
And here was the little Injun that could, back again. Then Bella rubbed her slightly perkier undead boobs on my other arm, and my boner started to HURT.

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:  
**Ah cahn't take much more, Cap'n! Ah'm givin' yah all Ah've got!

**Chilly Barley POV:  
**Which made me get super nervous.

"Umm, I should go anyway," I say, clutching Renesmee's dyed-green carnation corsage in my hands—as a Quackadoodledoote I had the power in my hands to influence the elements of the earth, and I'd learned the Old Magic in one of our tribe's communal _Highlights_ magazines involving a glass of water, green food coloring, and a stalk of celery split in half at the bottom, like a cleaved ladypart. "It's probably just a mistake. I probably forgot to call her or something. I know she loves me!"

So I ran away, first making a little pitstop in the woods.

Out of the tiny pocket inside the main pocket of the jorts I struggled to free the emergency lotion that Sam had given me, careful to coat my painful boner in a light film just as I'd seen in Appendix A of _My Lumpy Pants: I'm Normal _(second edition, with new foreward by Joycelyn Elders). _Fappety fappety fappety, UNGH!_

_"Barrooooooo!" _I howled, as I shot my wad into a saucy little tree with knobby bark that resembled Bella and Esme's boobs. Streams and streams of young wolf sauce covered the silky green leaves. "You're welcome, bitch," I told the tree in the manner of my people. Sam and the Great Skywolf had both instructed me on the proper post-fapping etiquette, to show our respect to the living spirits in the trees. "You may blow your wad on them," they had both told me, "but never forget they are the fingers and, possibly, lungs of our dearest Mother Earth."

I ran the rest of the way to prom, only stopping to pull my jorts out of my ass-crack from time to time. I was all sweaty, like rain was pouring down on my head, when I finally. got. to. the. prom.

And I saw them. My beautiful girl was standing there, next to another Quillyouth, a very familiar man in almost the same outfit I had on: jorts, a green bow tie and green cummerbund. Only he had some French cuffs on, with little dreamcatcher cufflinks. And he had his hand on my girlfriend's ASS!

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV: You were doing so well, but now you're at a prom and all you have to say about the outfits is that **_**two of them are green**_**? And dreamcatcher cufflinks belong solely on one particular character from the Village People, and then only in my private dreams, after several Appletinis. This is unforgivable writing. I regret to inform you that I must flounce this fic. I bid you adieu.**_

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
"Renesmee?" I asked, horrified. "_DAD_? _What are you doing?_"

"Oh," Dad said. "Didn't I tell you? My bad. I imprinted (my hand) on Renesmee('s ASS). At least for tonight," he said, winking in our Native American way, one lash in front of the other so as not to make a sound that might startle our prey.

"YOU WHAT?" I yelled.

"He imprinted on me," Renesmee said, emphasizing it with American Sign Language, then Qualuddite Sign Language, and when I kept staring at her blankly, with semaphore code. She pulled these giant flags out of her bra and everything, made out of the same fabric as her prom dress. Girl knew how to accessorize. "And now we're together. Like _together_, together." Then she emphasized that by humping my dad's leg while making air quotes with her fingers.

"When the fuck did this happen?" I wailed.

"Uh ... when she was a baby?" Dad said. "I think you guys were making mudpies at the time, actually. But it wasn't sexual. You're ignorant. It's not sexual. That's ignorant!"

"It's sure as hell sexual _now," _Renesmee corrected, grabbing my dad's boner through his jorts. "Right, baby?"

"Fuck yeah!" Dad said, trying to give me a high five. I just gave him a withering stare. I hoped it was a boner-withering stare. He didn't get the hint, just kept his hand up there like a doofus. "Don't leave me hangin', kid!"

I felt sick! I felt like the saddest puppy in the whole universe. Just then the voice of popular Tylauren Crowllory came over the loudspeaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's now time to crown the prom king and queen! For queen, it's Renesmee Cullen! And for king, it's Chilly Clearwater!"

Maybe this evening could be salvaged after all. The People had spoken! They wanted us to rule over them! I grabbed Renesmee's hand and dragged her up to the stage.

"Why didn't you tell me you were dating my dad?" I whispered to her. "You're breaking my heart, Renesmee. I just started getting boners!"

"You'll be fine," she said dismissively, looking disturbingly like her mom and dad at the same time.

Oh man. Thinking about her mom's boobs and her dad's undeniably perfect ass just had given me another stiffy.

**Chilly Barley Peen POV:**  
[quietly] _Llllllllllllllladies_. Also, may I suggest a threeway with your dad? I mean, _llllllllllllladies_.

**Chilly Barley POV:**  
"Maybe we could do some threeways?" my erection made me say. _Wait, what? NO! I want Renesmee to myself! Why do you make me say these things, __O,__ throbbing russet one?_

Suddenly, a 10-gallon bucket of Hormel Chili (medium, no beans) mixed with lube (the warming kind) splashed all over my head! I turned, and Renesmee was standing there, pointing and laughing at my inappropriately timed boner. I felt my wolfy heart break into a million billion pieces. And it was as if each one of those million billion pieces got pasted to the end of my rapidly growing chubby. "My heart is on my dick!" I moaned, rocking back and forth, which only served to make the kids in the front row duck and flinch like they were watching an old timey 3-D film where they kept poking long things at you. Very, very long things. Long, girthy, red-orange things.

I looked out at the audience, and everyone was laughing at me! Even my DAD was laughing at me, and there were nasty chunks of meat and inferior chili sauce dripping all over me and getting into my jorts and onto my boner, ruining the tie I bought to match Renesmee's beautiful dress. And I could see the top of her tits in her dress, and it just made my ruddy boner worse.

"Bo-ner! Bo-ner!" everyone started yelling. I looked down, and to my horror, my boner had erupted right out of my jorts, covered in chili and lube. I didn't know whether to lick it (we wolves have very flexible vertebrae) or stroke it.

The crowd seemed to have an opinion.

"Rub one out! Rub one out!" they yelled, so to spite them, I started rubbing it, and oh my god, I do not recommend rubbing chili into an erection, because that shit STINGS. Then, I swear I heard the voice of Yoda telling me to use the Force, or force the Jizz? It was hard to hear him over the sound of my own screaming.

"_Auauauughhthehabaneros_!" I screamed in agony, still holding my raging boner in my palm, which was becoming increasingly hairy. "_Too ... many ... Scovilles_!"

I started shaking and trembling, and even though it hurt I was still stroking it, and then my wolf-chowder spurted out all over all of them like sour cream, in a huge deluge of ropy cum like Noah's flood, coating everyone in chili-flavored cummy cum cum cumin cum sauce. I swiveled my hips like one of those rotating sprinkler things, and then went ahead and did the sprinkler dance for good measure, since it was prom, making sure I got a little on every single person who laughed at me, especially my dad, whose mouth was open disturbingly wide with his white-picket-fencelike teeth. I spooged all over every tooth until he looked like he had semen rabies.

"Fuck you all, Forks High!" I screamed, as fur exploded all over my nubile russet potato skin. "You're welcome, BITCHES! Baroooooo!" Then I alley-ooped the chili bucket so it hit my dad directly on his maroon cranium.

And that's how I became the basketball team's star player.

**

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Honored Guest Author, TheMuseIsMineAlone POV: Attention, everyone, attention! Due to overwhelming demand from my faithful and most devoted followers, I have decided to come out of retirement. You might say to yourself, "But what is this? How can we be so lucky?" You may well indeed say this if you have been given the secret password from my super secret snowflake forum and therefore recognize the new and deeply meaningful name I have dubbed myself in order to evade the attacks on me and my family, nay, even my ficus plant is not immune from the vitriol, the outrageous slings and arrows of the jealous, those who spread their poison to the many hamlets and byways and quaint shires of the fandom, their hatred for me feathering amongst our tales like bloody spite in an ocean of banal tripe, mine own deathless, celestial prose the sole lifeboat saving so many from their otherwise colorless, dreary, and pathetic lives. It is for them that I return, to write once more, for I call myself into being every time I put pen to paper. It is for my acolytes that I have come back, in order to fulfill my obligations as an artist. To you I say, in the immortal words of the Quileutes, "You're welcome, bitches."**

**Ghost of Melville POV: SHE DOESN'T EVEN WRITE THIS STORY!**

**Yoda POV: Write this even, do you?**

_**Tim Gunn, Celebrity Beta POV: I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to gather your belongings and leave.**_

**Honored Guest Author, TheMuseIsMineAlone POV: What? You ... you **_**forsake**_** me? Now I know how Jesus felt when he was crucified. But oh, I will repay your loathing and jibes only with love and forgiveness, for I know you know not what you do. Now watch as I walk on water and cure the lame. WHICH BY THE WAY IS ALL OF YOU. YOU = LAME. BITCHES!**

**

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Chilly Barley POV:  
**After prom, people respected me a little. Maybe they were scared of getting hosed down by my Wolfmilk again. Irregardlesslyfully, it was nice not getting mocked in the hallways. My new varsity basketball jacket earned me a few head nods as I passed students. Finally, things were looking up for Chilly Barley Ephraim Joaquin Running Brook Clearwater.

It was the day of the big pep rally before the state championship, and the cheerleaders had just made their giant fork formation (it was breathtaking) when this ...weird albino guy with a greasy ponytail came in and grabbed Renesmee by the throat, pulling her out from the bottom of the fork. Hot cheerleaders went tumbling everywhere like it was Jenga, but the greasy dude kept dragging away my Renesmee, holding a knife to her pale, perfect throat.

"Clearwater!" he shouted. How did he know my name? "I know you know where my mate is. You tried to hide her from me. I heard you even fucked her ... You tell me where she is, and maybe I'll let this freakshow live ... It's ... your choice."

"But ... I have no idea who your mate is! Does he go here? Are you ... Australian? You don't _sound_ Australian."

"_He_? I'm not some sick pervert! I think you know her. A lasagna ... about this wide? Very ... saucy?"

"God, I don't ... know!" I screamed, my throat closing in panic.

"Say goodbye ... to your ... mutant girlfriend ..." he said, and I closed my eyes, praying for ... a miracle.

I heard a crash of glass and a lot of shouting and hubbub, and when I dared to open my eyes again, I couldn't believe what I saw ...

...

...

...

... or could I?

**

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A/N: OMG SO SORRY FOR THE CLIFF HUXTABLE BUT MAYBE IF YOU REVUE YOU MIGHT GET THE CONCUSSION OF THE STORY.**


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